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Behind  The  Bars;  31498. 


BY 


CHARLES  C.  MOORE, 


Ex-Preacher  and  Coxvict;  Author  of  “The  Rational  View” 
AND  Editor  op  The  Blue  Grass  Blade. 


LEXINGTON,  KY. : 
Blue  Grass  Printing  Co., 
1899; 


170-44 

Msal 

.■84/4 

\m 


THIS  BOOK  IS  MOST  AFFECTIONATELY 
DEDICATED  TO  MY 

« Wife  ana  0biiarcn.  « 


Penitentiary,  Columbus,  Ohio, 
Mareh  lOth,  1899, 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


CHAPTER  I. 

My  maternal  grand-father  was  Barton  Warren  Stone.  He 
was  one  of  twenty  children  of  the  son  of  the  Earl  of  Surrey. 
He  was  the  founder  of  the  religious  sect  variously  known  as 
“Christians,”  “Disciples”  and  “Campbellites.”  This  last 
name  was  given  them  from  the  fact  that  about  three  yeais  after 
mj'  grand-father  had  organized  this  sect  Alexander  Campbell 
came  from  Scotland  to  America  and,  accepting  the  distinguish- 
ing religious  tenets  of  my  grand-father,  added  to  them  the 
doctrine  known  as  “baptism  for  the  remission  of  sins,”  and 
urged  that  doctrine  with  such  special  force  that  it,  being  quite 
unpopular,  attracted  much  attention,  and  resulted  in  the  relig- 
ious body  being  called  “Campbellites,”  and  in  Mr.  Campbell 
taking  precedence  over  my  grand-father  as  the  leader  in  the 
religious  denomination.  Stone  and  Campbell  were  respective!}^ 
like  Melancthon  and  Luther  in  “The  Reformation,”  as  the 
new  sect  was  called;  my  grand-father  being  mild,  gentle,  reti- 
ring and  unobtrusive,  and  Mr.  Campbell  being  very  ambitious. 

I can  only  remember  my  grand-father  on  two  occasions. 
Once  he  was  smoking  a cob  pipe  in  the  front  porch  of  the  large 
home  of  my  parents,  and  once  my  fatlier  was  counting  out  to 
him  about  a hundred  silver  dollars.  I thought  they  must  be 
very  rich  people.  My  paternal  grand-father  died  many  years 
before  I was  born.  My  father  was  Charles  Chiltou  Moore,  the 
Chilton,  and  I imagine  the  Charles  also,  being  for  my  paternal 
grand-father’s  Captain  in  the  Revolutionary  war. 

M}'  name  is  Charles  Chilton  Moore,  as  it  was  recorded  in 
the  large  old  family  Bible,  that  had  in  it  the  apocryphal  books 
of  the  Old  Testament,  that  I read  with  the  canonic  books  when 
I was  a yoUng  boy,  and  that  was  burned  in  a fire  that  destroyed 
“my  old  Kentucky  home,”  soon  after  our  civil  war. 


6 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498, 


On  an  adjustable  kind  of  a door  plate  that  hangs  on  the 
outside  of  the  heavy  steel  doors,  that  now  lock  me  in,  niy  name 
is  “Moore,  31498,’’  the  figures  indicating  the  number  of  con- 
victs in  all,  that  had  been  in  this  prison  when  I came  into  it. 
I am  a Government  prisoner.  This  is  the  first  position  I have 
ever  held  under  the  Government,  except  that  I have  twice  been 
Census  Enumerator. 

M}^  elde.st  .son  is  named  Charles  Chilton  Moore,  and  his 
onl}^  child  has  the  same  name,  and  we  call  the  little  one 
Charles  IV. 

(Just  then  a man  called  to  me  through  the  grating  of  my 
cell  door,  and  .said,  “Good  evening,  sir;  I believe  this  is  the 
Colonel  from  Kentucky,’’  and  I .said,  “No  sir;  I am  the  only 
man  who  ever  came  from  Kentuck}^  who  was  not  a Colonel,’’ 
and  he  laughed  and  said,  “Oh,  beg  pardon.’’) 

Heredity  and  environment  and  pre-natal  conditions  are  the 
architects  of  our  fortunes,  despite  the  proverb  to  the  contrary, 
that  I offer  this  in  apology  for  some  further  information  about 
my  ance.stry.  It  seems  fairly  certain  that  I am  kin  to  the  Duke 
of  Argyll,  and  the  family  name  is  in  my  immediate  family. 
In  the  current  rage  for  finding  distinguished  ancestry,  some 
late  book  on  that  .subject,  I am  told,  has  made  me  kin  to 
Charlemagne  and  ’William  the  Conquerer.  I don’t  know,  and 
don’t  care,  but  suppose  it  is  no  better  sustained  than  such  pre- 
tentions generally  are. 

Beside  Adam  I know  of  no  other  prominent  ancient  to 
whom  I am  related.  He  was  a gardener  and  seems  to  have 
rai.sed  apples  and  to  have  ha  I dome.stic  infelicity  with  his  wife, 
but  belonged  to  the  first  families  of  his  country. 

My  father  was  brought  by  his  parents  from  Virginia  when 
he  was  six  months  old,  to  his  parent’s  home,  eight  miles  north 
of  Dexington,  Kentuckjq  which  is  almost  in  .sight  of  the  fine 
“Blue  Grass’’  farm  of  850  acres  that  my  father  .subsequently 
owned,  and  347  acres  of  which  my  family  now  own.  Our 
home  is  a nice  and  neat  frame  hou.se,  called  “Quakeracre’’ 
from  its  simplicity. 

My  mother  was  a woman  of  strong  common  sen.se,  and 
had  inherited  her  father’s  strong  religious  convictions.  Her 


BEHIND  THE  BABS^  31498. 


7 


father  was- not  rich,  and  even  if  she  had  had  the  finest  oppor- 
tunities of  her  day,  in  other  re.spects,  she  could  not  have  had 
great  literar}^  advantages,  as  she  was  married  before  she  was 
sixteen  years  old.  She  was  much  esteemed  for  her  own  ster- 
ling qualities  and  for  the  great  love  that  many  had  for  her 
father.  In  one  sense  my  father’s  education  was  limited;  in 
another  sense  it  was  not  at  all  so.  The  school  facilities  of  his 
day,  in  Kentuck5^  were  poor,  but  through  a life  that  ended  at 
at  71  years  he  was  a close  and  retaining  reader  of  the  best 
literature.  He  loved  “Sir  Walter  Scott,’’  as  he  always  called 
him,  and  as  far  back  as  I can  remember  I have  .seen  him  shake 
with  silent  merriment  as  he  read  Dickens.  He  was  a fine  busi- 
ness man;  began  life  on  a patrimony  of  one  thousand  dollars 
as  a merchant  in  Winchester,  Kjc,  and  ended  as  a farmer. 
Politically  he  was  a great  admirer  of  Henry  Clay.  He  played 
no  game  but  backgammon,  but  I have  heard  it  intimated  that 
rather  than  have  Mr.  Clay  embarassed  my  father  helped  to 
pay  debts  that  Mr.  Clay  made  at  cards. 

My  father’s  only  dissipation  was  chewing  tobacco,  though 
he  was  very  neat  about  it.  He  nearly  always  chewed  tobacco 
while  he  was  reading  newspapers.  When  he  died  one  of  the 
old  Negro  men  came  to  me  and  said;  “Now,  Mars  Charley, 
ole  Manster’s  dead,  an’  I jes’  want  ter  tell  you  one  thing; 
you’se  got  to  learn  to  read  de  newspapers  and  chaw  terbacker.’’ 
He  thought  that  “ole  Marster’’  got  his  busine.ss  knowledge 
out  of  newspapers,  and  that  “terbacker”  greatl}'  a.ssisted  in 
understanding  anj^  good  reading.  In  his  young  days  my 
father  was  quite  a beau.  He  was  one  of  the  “attendants”  at 
thirtj’-two  weddings,  and  in  a The.spian  society  is  said  to  have 
played  “Tony  Lumpkin,”  in  “She  Stoops  to  Conquer,”  in 
fine  style.  In  his  old  da}'S,  he  would,  .sometimes,  half  in  mer- 
riment, and  half  in  the  stilted  dignit}"  of  his  young  days,  bow 
exceedingly  low  to  a lady  and  say,  “Sarvant,  Madam.”  He 
nearly  always  wore  a dress  suit,  including  white  cravat,  with 
an  expansive  and  expensive  bandanna  handkerchief.  In  talk- 
ing, which  he  did  well,  his  habit  was  to  plait  and  to  unplait  his 
handkerchief  When  he  would  go  to  relate  some  of  his  early 
experiences,  as  he  would  do,  by  special  solicitation  on  occa- 


g 


BEHIND  THE  BABS,  31498. 


sions  when  we  had  a pretty  large  visiting  company,  and  espe- 
cially in  winter  nights,  the  Negro  women  and  children  from 
the  kitchen  would  frequently  steal  in  and  take  retired  seats  on 
the  floor  of  the  sitting  room.  I cannot  tell  a story  as  well  as 
he  did,  and  so  I will  just  give  you  the  substance  of  one  of  his 
stories. 

It  wa,s  at  the  Battle  of  the  River  Raisin,  or  Dudley’s  De- 
feat, I don’t  know  which — the}^  may  be  two  names  for  the 
same  battle.  Colonel  Dudley  was  commanding  the  regiment 
in  which  my  father  was. 

( At  this  point  I bought  from  a newsboy  at  my  cell  door, 
a cop}’  of  the  Columbus,  Ohio,  Press-Po.st  of  this  date,  Sun- 
day, February  12th,  1899.  In  it  are  two  columns  of  an  ac- 
count of  me,  and  five  pictures  of  me,  and  under  the  five,  that 
are  in  a group,  there  are,  in  large  letters,  the  words,  “Versatile 
Charles  C.  Moore.’’  In  this  group  of  pictures  of  me  the 
large.st  one  is  simply  of  my  head  and  bust,  with  my  prison 
number,  “31498,’’  in  large  figures  acro.ss  my  brea.st,  as  I .sat 
to  have  my  picture  taken  according  to  the  requirements  of  the 
“Bertillon  system’’  u.sed  in  the  pri.son.  One  of  the  pictures 
represents  me  in  the  conventional  penitentiary  stripes.  Tliis 
is  inaccurate.  While  some  of  the  pri.soners  liave  the.se  stripes, 
the  large  majority  of  them  including  m}’,self,  have  uniforms 
not  unlike  tho.se  of  the  Confederate  officers  in  the  civil  war. 
The  other  two  pictures  of  me  are  anachroni.sms,  as  they  rej)- 
re,sent  me  as  a preaclier  and  as  a Eunjpean  touri.st  witli  long 
gray  hair  and  beard  as  I now  have,  which  in  those  days  were 
as  black  as  a crow.  The  article  in  the  Press-Post,  headlines 
aud  all,  is  as  follows: 

REDIAltK.VHLE 

Is  THE  Like  Story  oe  Chvrees  C.  3Ioore,  Edi  ioi:  ok  j'iie  Bt.i  e Ctij  sss 
Bl.sde. — His  Presek’i' Term  i,\  the  Ohio  I’ExnEN'n a ry  AIerei.y 
,\n  Incident  in  the  Ncmerocs  Pharters  oe  Romance  and  ,\dyen- 
TUKE. — rmi.AXTHROITST,  TrAVEI.EK,  EdITOR,  InEIDEI,,  AND  NOW  A 

Convict. — Thrii.lino  Exeekiences  oe  this  Unhu’h  Char.w'I'er  in 
His  Struggles  to  S.atisey  His  .f..MiHTroNS. — 'Iells  His  Story  to 
The  Press-Post. 


Charles  C.  fMoore,  the  gray-bearded,  silvery-haired  prisoner  who 
entered  the  penitentiary  Wednesday  evening  to  serve  a senl,eiu*e  of 
two  years  from  Lexington,  Ky.,  has  a life’s  story  that  fairly  teems 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498' 


9 


with  romance  and  adventure.  In  brief,  he  has  traveled  the  course 
from  the  son  of  a wealthy  Kentucky  j^entleman,  with  means  to  gratify 
evi'ry  wish,  to  an  inmate  of  a felon’s  cell.  That  he  is  now  in  the 
penitentiary  is  due  to  an  error  in  judgment,  rather  than  in  purpose. 

Shortly  after  his  arrival  at  the  institution  he  related  the  follow- 
ing story  to  a Press-Post  reporter.  It  is  a very  small  part  of  his  his- 
tory. Complete,  it  would  fill  a book.  Said  he  : 

“1  was  born  61  years  ago  on  the  farm  where  1 have  resided  all  my 
life,  about  eight  miles  from  Lexington,  Kentucky.  My  father  was  a 
wealthy  man  and  I was  an  only  child.  I was  left  with  all  the  money 
I could  wish  tor  and  my  check  was  honored  all  over  the  State  when 
made  payable  by  my  father.  But  I did  not  spend  much  money. 
Rather  than  go  into  society  and  spend  money,  I lived  as  a recluse, 
spending  most  of  my  time  in  study  and  reading.  I had  two  intimate 
coin])anions.  One  was  the  brightest  boy  I have  ever  seen  and  the 
other  was  about  the  dullest.  One  is  Judge  John  G.  Simrall,  of 
I^ouisville,  and  the  other  is  General  .John  B.  Castleman.  also  of 
Louisville.  I received  my  early  education  from  a private  tutoress 
whom  my  father  secured  in  New  York.  She  was  a woman  of  remark- 
able abilities,  and  we  regarded  her  almost  as  one  of  the  family. 
AVhen  I grew  old  enough  to  go  to  college  1 started  in  at  what  was 
then  known  as  Transylvania  t’ollege.  at  Lexington,  but  1 did  not  like 
the  place  and  later  went  to  Bethany  College.  It  was  in  the  year  1856 
that  I entered  there,  and  two  years  later  I graduated  with  the  degree 
of  bachelor  of  arts.  During  my  stay  at  college  1 was  ranked  as  the 
most  popular  man  there.  I was  popular  with  the  professors  and  best 
students,  as  well  as  with  the  most  harum-scarum  boys  enrolled.  I 
was  into  every  bit  of  mischief. 

"After  returning  home  in  1858  I started  in  to  preach,  and 
throughout  the  war  I was  regarded  as  one  of  the  foremost  preachers 
of  the  State.  At  one  time  1 jjreached  at  the  same  church  with  .Tames 
A.  Garfield.  I did  not  know  at  the  time  who  he  was.  but  remarked 
that  he  was  a very  unusual  man  and  a good  one.  but  a politician 
rather  than  a |)reacher.  During  the  war  I was  an  abolitionist  and  a 
secessionist  and  1 did  a great  deal  i.)f  good  work  for  both  sides. 

‘'Shortly  after  the  close  of  the  war  1 made  u)>  my  mind  to  walk  to 
Palestine,  starting  on  my  walk  from  Liverpool,  Kngland.  1 did  not 
com[)lete  my  journey,  however,  for  reasons  which  1 will  describe 
later.  1 went  across  the  water,  however,  and  started  out  from  Liver- 
])ool  on  foot.  1 went  from  London  to  Paris,  walking  all  the  way,  and 
1 made  a host  of  friends  doing  it.  One  rather  interesting  thing  hai>- 
peiu'd  after  1 left  London.  I had  been  walking  all  day  and  when 
night  fell  I reached  a small  town  in  which  there  happened  to  lie  a 
great  number  of  Her  IMajesty’s  soldiers,  and  I could  not  get  a place 
to  sh'ep  for  the  night.  I conse(|uently  left  the  town  and  a short  dis- 
tance out  of  it  I came  across  the  mansion  of  an  Knglish  lord,  whose 
name  1 can’t  recall.  I was  determined  to  stay  there  that  night,  and 
so  on  ap|iroaching  the  jilace  I walked  right  past  the  porter’s  (lost  and 
into  the  house  where  1 met  his  highness,  the  lord.  I told  him  of  my 
mission  and  said  I could  vouch  for  my  honesty.  He  doubted  me, 
and,  after  some  little  (larlcy,  said  I could  not  remain  there.  Then  I 
said  1 would  sleeji  in  the  roadway  in  front  of  his  house.  ^Meanwhile 
his  wife  came  out.  and  after  a short  talk  with  her,  he  called  to  me  to 
come  back  and  stay  there.  1 accepted,  and  our  evening  was  a most 
[ileasant  one.  Next  day.  when  I left,  they  gave  me  a hearty  invita- 
tion to  return,  and  the  lord  gave  me  one  of  his  cards,  which  I still 
have.  One  day  while  near  Paris,  at  the  suburban  town  of  Bois  de 


10 


BKIIIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


BouIokiip,  I saw  a man  drowning  in  tlie  Spine,  and  it  afterwards 
proved  to  be  an  attcmptcal  suicidm  1 save(l  Ids  life  by  swimming  in 
alter  him.  AlI.er  getting  Idinont  1 hcl|ied  Idni  to  his  liuiue  ami  tliere 
discovered  that  tlie  atlair  liad  come  out  of  some  donu‘stic  trouble. 
But  the  man  when  I ptdled  1dm  out  thanked  me  in  Ids  French  tongue 
a tliousand  times. 

“Shortly  after  this  I received  word  that  my  sister  had  died,  and 
I became  so  homesick  that  I gave  u]i  my  journey  and  stavted  for 
home.  ^ After  reaching  my  Kentucky  place  I preached  for  a year  or  so 
at  the  Christian  Church,  A^ersailles,  Ky.  During  my  ministry  there  the 
most  remarkable  thing  of  my  life  hapi)enod.  Jt  was  my  change  from 
a preacher  of  the  Gos{)el  to  an  iiiHdel.  One  of  my  most  intimate 
friends  was  William  ,J.  Hatch,  who  was  a son  of  the  ex-president  of 
the  university,  and  one  of  the  most  leai-he<l  |)ersons  I have  ever  met. 
He  was  an  infidel,  while  I was  a Christian.  He  came  to  see  me  while 
I was  at  home  and  the  pre-eminent  (juostion  of  our  lives  immedi- 
ately sprung  up.  IVe  mutually  agreed  not  to  argue  on  the  (|uestion, 
but  to  get  the  very  best  books  on  infidelity  and  Christianity,  and 
read  them  carefully.  He.  was  at  my  home  six  weeks,  during  which 
time  we  studied  the  questioji  constantly.  I converted  him,  and  at 
my  next  Sunday  service  I baptized  him.  This  is  what  that  operation 
cost  me : A few  Sundays  after  that  I was  preaching  at  my  usual 
place,  when,  at  the  close  of  the  sermon,  I cljsed  the  Bible  and 
walked  down  from  the  ])ulpit  and  out  of  the  church.  I called  a 
meeting  of  the  elders  next  day  and  informed  them  that  they  would 
liave  to  get  another  preacher,  as  I was  skeptical  and  could  not  i)rcach 
what  1 did  not  believe.  I was  an  infidel,  and  that,  after  a most  care- 
ful study  of  the  subject.  It  was  not  my  intention  to  say  much  about 
my  change  of  belief  at  that  time,  but  the  cpiestion  was  so  often  put 
before  me  that  I did  linally  make  a public  avowal  of  it. 

“Alter  that  1 drifted  into  journalism,  abting  in  the  caj>acity  of 
reporter  and  also  editor  of  the  Lexington  Transcript  and  Daily  .Press. 
Doth  pajiers,  however,  have  since  merged  into  <tther  itapers,  so  {hat 
they  tire  not  known  by  that  name  now.  I followed  that  vocation  off 
and  on  until  18, SB,  when  1 stiirted  my  own  pajter.  I did  that  bectiuse 
1 was  unalile  while  on  the  other  jtapers  to  express  my  thoughts.  1 
was  a moralist,  and,  although  ati  infidel,  1 have  done  more  for  t.he 
demi-monde  ttf  Lexington  than  any  other  person  that  ever  lived 
there.  One  night  when  I was  walking  hotne  from  town,  it  was  a 
cold,  s)K)wy  night,  and  I lived  eight  iniles  from  town,  I turned  the 
whole  matter  over  in  my  mind  and  decided  t(j  start  my  papeu-.  Al- 
most at  the  same  instant  of  my  decision  1 decided  to  call  it  the  “Blue 
Grass  Blade,”  and  it  still  bears  that  name. 

“In  my  paper  1 fought  the  li(|uor  question,  butdid  not  hav^e  the 
siqiport  of  the  jirofessing  Christians  of  the  town.  I also  opposed  the 
campaign  of  Colonel  \V.  (h  P.  Breckinridge,  who  was  a distant  rela- 
tive of  mine.  Aly  paper  had  a wonderfully  wide  circulati(.)n.  If  had 
as  many  readers  in  Massachusetts  as  it  d id  in  my  Sl.ate,  and  in  Ne- 
l.iraska,  a State  1 was  never  in.  it  also  had  a very  wide  circulation. 
But  the  |ieopl(.‘  were  not  in  sympathy  with  juy  publication,  and  I was 
too  much  of  a moralist  for  them,  and  finally  1 was  unable  to  get  my 
|)a|)er  printed  in  the  town.  Then  I took  it  to  C'incinnati,  where  it 
was  [irinted  for  some  time,  and  I linally  got  things  to  running  in 
Lexington  again,  so  that  it  could  be  gotten  out  there. 

“In  1893  I was  locked  in  jail  in  Paris,  Ky. , for  two  months  for 
publishing  the  following  statement  in  my  pa])er;  ‘If  I had  a contract 
to  bore  for  hell  lire,  1 would  build  my  derrick  where  the  earth’s  crust 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


11 


is  tliinup.st,  in  front  of  the  Christian  Cluirch,  of 1 Ey-’  While 

I was  in  jail  I wrote  a book  entitled  ‘Behind  the  Bars.’  I worked  on 
it  day  and  nif^ht,  and  finally  in  a lit  o?  des])ondency,  after  I had  eoin- 
jileted  it,  I tore  up  all  the  manuscript  anjl  threw  it  into  the  lire. 
Some  tipie  after  that  I was  assaulted  by  a man  and  jailed  for  fighting. 
At  the  time  of  my  trial,  my  attorneys  were  Christians,  while  the 
judge  was  an  infidel,  and  I was  cleared.  Once  again  after  that  I was 
ja,iled  for  blas])hemy,  but  released  after  a short  imprisonment.  The 
article  which  caused  the  arrest  resulting  in  my  being  here  was  j)ub- 
lished  in  October,  1897.  My  life  has  been  one  of  adventures  and  I 
can  not  but  look  uiion  my  ])resent  condition  as  just  one  of  the  nota- 
ble occurrences  in  my  history.  The  keei)ers  here  at  the  prison  have 
been  just  as  kind  to  me  as  they  could  i)0ssibly  be,  and  I am  very 
grateful  to  them  for  all  of  it.  The  warden  has  told  me  that  I will 
work  in  the  prison  j)rinting  office,  where  1 can  do  proof-reading,  and 
occasionally  write  a little  squib  of  some  sort,  and  that  will  be  very 
enjoyable.” 

An  allusion  was  made  to  the  recent  exploration  of  the  .lohn 
IMorgan  tunnel  and  the  investigations  such  as  have  been  published, 
and  he  made  a start,  exclaiming  with  surprise  that  he  had  forgotten 
all  about  its  having  occurred  at  this  i)lace.  He  expressed  his  desire 
to  see  the  cells  occupied  by  IMorgan  and  his  men,  and  hopes  to  bo 
able  to  write  an  article  for  his  i)a])er  on  the  subject.  Considering  his 
position,  he  seems  to  be  delighted  with  his  prospects.  He  said  the 
place  did  not  seem  to  him  like  a ]n-ison  at  all;  everybody  was  so 
courteous  to  him.  Moore  presents  a very  picturesque  appearance  iii 
his  prison  garb.  He  looks  like  a statesman,  and  is  a most  liuent 
talker.  His  travels  over  the  world  and  his  ])revious  excellent  school- 
ing. supplemented  by  diligent  reading,  have  given  him  a magnilicent 
education,  and  he  is  very  conversant  on  almost  any  subject.  He  is 
very  musical  in  his  tastes,  and.  although  when  younger  he  was  quite 
an  expert  as  a |)ianist,  he  has  done  nothing  with  that  for  years.  All 
of  his  folks  are  likewise  musical. 

One  of  his  sons  is  a chemist  in  the  Department  of  Agricultur(‘ 
at  'Washington.  Another  has  recently  returned  from  Porto  Rico, 
having  scrv(>d  in  the  late  war,  while  still  another  is  at  home  with  his 
mother.  His  acapiaintance  throughout  the  South  is  something  re- 
markable. and  if  he  is  not  known  by  name,  he  is  known  as  the  editor 
of  the  “Blue  Crass  Blade.” 

-,'fi  ;lc  >|<  . 

I mnv  re.sunie  my  .story  at  the  point  where  I was  inter- 
rupted by  the  newspaper  incident.  It  was  in  1812  and  the 
weather  was  cold  enough  their,  or  soon  after,  to  freeze  the 
spray  on  tlie  ropes  of  a ship  on  Lake  Erie,  and  the  scene  of 
the  battle  vvas  in  the  wilderne.ss  and  I think  not  far  from  Lake 
Erie.  My  father,  who  was  suEsequently  called  Captain  from 
his  connection  with  the  militia  .service,  and  his  brother  Thomas 
were  privates  in  the  war.  There  was  a river  between  the 
American  forces  on  one  .side  and  the  Indians  and  the  British 
on  the  other.  The  Indians  were  commanded  by  British  offi- 


12 


BEHIND  THT:  BARS;  31498. 


cers.  The  river  was  so  narrow  and  shallow  that,  had  there 
been  no  opposition,  the  Americans  could  have  waded  across. 
The  Americans,  adopting  the  tactics  of  the  Indians,  broke 
ranks  and,  as  far  as  possible,  hid  behind  trees,  each  side  firing 
whenever  a man  on  either  side  could  get  a shot  at  the  other. 
My  father  was  behind  a tree  that  was  barely  large  enough  to 
protect  him,  and  a ball  from  an  Indian  knocked  particles  of 
the  bark  off  the  tree  into  my  father’s  eyes. 

By  degrees  the  boldest  of  the  Americans  began  running 
from  behind  the  trees  that  concealed  them  so  as  to  get  closer 
to  the  river  and  to  the  Indians  and  their  Briti.sh  officers  on  the 
other  .side.  The  Indians  stayed  still  behind  their  trees,  and 
killed  and  wounded  the  Americans  as  they  ran  toward  the  In- 
dians. The  Americans  showed  a di.sposition  to  cross  the  river 
to  the  Indians,  while  the  Indians  were  di.sposed  to  retreat  from 
the  river.  It  was  a piece  of  strategy  on  the  part  of  the  In- 
dians, and  it  deceived  the  Americans.  When  the  Americans 
had  thus  been  enticed  to  come  close  up  to  the  banks  of  the 
river  .so  that  the  Indians  in  front  of  them  could  shoot  them  if 
they  attempted  to  cross  the  river,  it  was  di.scovered  that  the 
Indians  were  coming  up  in  the  rear  of  the  Americans,  .so  that 
the  Indians  in  front  and  behind  were  protected  by  trees,  while 
the  Americans  could  not  be. 

( At  this  point  a prisoner  po.stman  of  the  prison  post-office 
brought  me  the  following  letter  from  my  wife: 


Le.x'ixotu.v,  Ky.,  Fei!Iu:.\ky  9,  1899. 

V Die  \ u 1 1 rsn.wi) : 

I liavi*  l)cfii  so  shucked  and  dazed  by  what  has  hapiieued  that  I 
can  seareely  collect  myself  ('iioiigh  to  realize  that  it  is  true.  Last 
night  was  almost  a sleepless  night  and  was  spent  in  tears.  The  in- 
humanity of  man  to  man  and  the  infamy  that  is  |)erpetrated  in  the 
nanu'  of  religion  arc  enough  to  make  one’s  blood  boil. 

Daddy,  be  brave  and  keep  a cheerful  heart.  It  is  hard  to  bear, 
but  I am  'proud  to  be  a convict’s  wife  und<‘r  existing  circumstances, 
and  I scorn  such  characters  as  the  hypocrite  Rucker.  1 do  not  wish 
him  any  bodily  harm,  but  I hope  that  derision  and  scorn  and  con- 
tPin|)t  will  be  heaped  upon  his  head  by  true  men,  Leland  seemed 
to  boil  with  rage  last  night  when  he  got  home.  I would  be  almost 
afraid  for  him  to  meet  Rucker  now.  We  are  going  to  do  all  we  can 
to  get  you  back  home. 

Cam |)bel I told  Leland  that  this  would  make  you  many  friends, 
and  that  he  would  do  all  he  could  for  you.  How  I hope  the  warden 
is  a kind-hearted  man  and  will  respect  your  gray  hairs.  I feel  that 


BEFIlND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


13 


it  is  the  greatest  blot  on  civilization  that  ever  liappened.  If  yonr 
friends  do  not  rally  now,  and  do  what  tliey  can  they  will  not  ileserve 
freedom,  if  they  ever  had  ajiy. 

How  are  you?  I have  thought  of  nothing  but  you  since  you  left, 
but  I am  going  to  try,  mighty  hard,  not  to  let  it  make  me  sick.  A^ou 
see  my  hand  trembles  so  that  1 can  hardly  write.  The  nights  are 
so  long  and  lonely.  It  seems  an  age  since  you  left  ns.  There  are  a 
good  many  letters  here  for  you.  Must  1 send  them  to  you  ? Tell  us 
about  yourself  and  let  us  hear  from  you  as  oftmi  as  you  can.  I hope 
you  are  well  and  comfortable.  There  will  be  a day  of  retribution,  I 
hope.  The  house  seems  as  if  we  have  had  a funeral.  The  servants 
all  seem  to  feel  for  you  deeply.  Brent  seemed  dazed — just  sat  for  a 
long  time  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 

Willis  is  waiting  for  this,  so  I will  stop.  Brent  joins  me  in  love 
to  you,  dear  Daddy.  Let  us  know  if  you  want  anything. 

Your  hopeful  wife,  Lttcy  B.  Moore. 

L,eland  and  Brent  are  our  son.s,  aged  23  and  21  years,  and 
Willis  is  a faithful  Negro  man  in  our  employ  as  a farm  hand. 
Our  other  children  are  Charles  C.,  aged  27,  and  Lucile  Camp- 
bell Moore,  aged  18,  both  in  Washington,  D.  C. ; the  first  in 
the  employ  of  the  Government  as  a scienti,st,  in  the  Agricul- 
tural Department,  and  the  latter  at  school.  Beside  the.se  our 
only  other  child  was  our  first  born,  Eliza  Campbell.  She  died 
when  she  was  eleven  years  old,  and  her  death  put  the  first 
gray  hairs  in  my  head. ) 

To  continue  the  story  of  the  battle,  in  a few  minutes  more 
the  Indians  came  rushing,  with  wild  war  whoops,  up  behind 
the  Americans,  while  the  Indians  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river  ran  up  to  the  river  from  which  they  had  retreated,  and  the 
Americans  began  to  fall  fast  from  the  rifle  shots  of  the  In- 
dians. Col.  Dudley  .seeing  that  defence  was  impo.s.sible,  jerked 
a ramrod  from  a musket,  tied  a white  handkerchief  on  it, 
waved  it  in  token  of  surrender,  and  ordered  his  men  to  lay 
down  their  arms.  The  Indians,  from  both  sides,  rushed  on  to 
the  surviving  Americans  and  captured  them  all.  My  father 
had  on  a fine  military  overcoat,  the  lining  of  which  was  .so 
quilted  in  .squares  that  each  square  had  a gold  coin  in  it,  that 
he  had  thus  concealed  for  an  emergency'.  An  Indian  snatched 
this  overcoat  and  put  it  on  without  knowing  that  there  was 
any  money  in  it.  My  father  never  saw  it  any  more,  and  used 
to  wonder  what  became  of  the  money'  that  was  in  it. 

The  Indians  then  stripped  all  of  the  Americans  stark 
naked.  My  father  had  a very  handsome  and  bright  colored 


14 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


pair  of  .suspenders,  with  fine  buckles  on  them.  An  Indian 
unbuttoned  the.se  .suspenders  from  my  fathers  pants  and  tried 
to  fix  them  on  to  Ins  own  buckskin  breeches;  which,  of  course, 
he  could  not  do,  as  the  Indian’s  breeches  had  no  buttons,  be- 
ing intended  to  be  held  up  onl}'  bj'  a belt  around  the  waist. 
The  Indian  tried  to  luickle  the  suspenders  around  his  waist, 
but  could  not.  He  threw  the  suspenders,  with  contempt, 
back  to  ni}'’  father,  who  stood  and  held  this  only  remnant  of 
his  toilet.  The  Indian  .started  off,  but  .soon  turned  back  and 
snatched  the  suspenders  from  1113'  father  and  tried  to  u.se  them 
to  hold  his  powder  horn.  Not  succeeding  in  this  he  threw 
them  a .second  time  to  my  father  and  started  off  again.  He 
soon  turned  back,  however,  and,  a third  time,  snatched  them 
from  my  father,  and  went  off,  and  1113^  father  never  saw  him 
again,  M3'  father  said,  in  telling  this  .stor3^,  “He  was  an  In- 
dian giver.’’  It  was  soon  evident  that  the  Indians  were  going 
to  make  all  the  prisoners  “run  the  gauntlet.’’  There  was  a 
long  trench  in  the  ground,  which,  from  my  father’s  descrip- 
tion, I imagine  w^as  about  four  feet  deep,  eight  or  ten  feet 
wide,  and  from  a hundred  3"ards  to  two  hundred  yards  long. 
M3'  father  thought  the  ditch  was  either  an  old  and  abandoned 
mill  race,  or  an  old  deep  worn  road. 

At  one  end  of  the  ditch  was  a fort  that  my  father  called  a 
“block  house.’’  The  Indians  marched  the  naked  prisoners 
down  to  the  end  of  the  ditch,  away  from  the  block  hou.se,  and 
told  them  that  if  they  could  run  down  that  ditch  to  the  block 
house  and  get  into  the  block  house,  they  would  after  that  be 
saved.  Many  Indians  then  stationed  them.selves  on  the  banks 
each  side  of  the  ditch,  to  kill  the  Americans  as  the3’  ran  b3'. 
M3Hather’s  most  intimate  friend  was  named  Grant,  and  my 
father  and  Grant  determined  to  hold  each  other  b3'  the  hand 
and  run  together.  When  their  time  came  to  run  they  bid 
each  other  an  affectionate  good-b3'e  and  started  together,  run- 
ning their  be.st.  The3^  pas.sed  a number  of  Indians  without 
getting  hurt,  and  then  1113^  father  saw  ahead  of  them,  on  his 
side  of  the  ditch,  an  Indian,  with  a bright,  new  rifle,  who  was 
fixing  to  shoot  as  the  two  .should  run  b3'.  As  the3^  drew  near 
him  the  Indian  drew  his  gun  and  fired,  api^arently  at  1113' 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


15 


father,  when  the  two  were  iiearlj’  opposite  the  Indian. 
father  felt  Grant’s  hand  jerk  loose  fi'om  his,  and  g^lancing  back 
saw  that  the  ball  had  struck  Grant  in  the  naked  breast,  and 
the  blood  was  spouting  from  his  mouth  as  he  threw  up  his 
hands  and  fell  back.  My  father  never  saw  Grant  again. 

My  father  continued  to  run,  as  fast  as  he  could.  He  ap- 
proached an  Indian  who,  he  could  see,  was  getting  ready  to 
split  his  skull  with  a broad-sword,  holding  the  handle  in  both 
hands.  As  my  father  passed  him  the  Indian  struck,  and  my 
father  dodged  so  that  the  sword  struck  him  across  the  shoul- 
ders. It  was  a glancing  stroke,  but  knocked  father  down. 
He  lost  but  little  time  by  the  fall,  coming  down  on  his  hands 
and  knees,  and  going  ahead  all  the  time,  until  he  regained  his 
feet.  He  ran  on  and  got  into  the  block  house,  and  used  to 
say  that  the  only  wound  he  ever  got  in  war  was  in  the  Irack , 
and  while  he  was  running.  The  prisoners  who  had  gotten  in- 
to the  block  house,  knowing  that  the  Indians  had  a special 
aversion  to  red-headed  men,  hid  all  of  that  kind  under  the 
wounded  and  dead  men,  but  the  Indians  came  in  and  found  all 
red-headed  men,  and  killed  them  and  scalped  them.  While 
the  Indians  w^ere  scalping  these  red-headed  men,  my  father 
could  see  that  something  at  a distance  was  creating  an  excite- 
ment among  the  Indians  and  their  British  officers,  and  my 
father  managed  to  get  a view  in  that  direction,  and  saw  an 
Indian  on  a horse,  that  had  on  him  the  harness  of  an  Ameri- 
can cannon  carriage,  coming  toward  them  as  fast  as  the  horse 
could  run.  The  Indian  ran  the  horse  at  full  speed  right  into 
the  midst  of  the  Indians  and  their  officers,  and  began  a most 
excited  .speech  to  the  Indians.  From  the  dogged  and  mean 
appearance  of  the  Indians,  it  was  evident  to  the  Americans 
and  Briti.sh  that  the  speaker,  who  proved  to  be  Tecum.sejg  was 
abusing  them  for  killing  the  pri.soners,  and  even  the  British 
officers  did  not  dare  to  re.sent  what  he  said. 

M}^  father  said  “Tecum.sey  was  a low,  ugly,  Potawatomie 
Indian.”  My  father  used  to  .say  that  he  never  had  seen  but 
one  man  who  would  brag  and  fight,  too,  and  that  was  General 
Feslie  Combs,  of  Lexington.  Gen.  Combs  was  in  that  battle. 
Years  after  1113^  father  was  dead,  I met  the  old  General  one  da3^ 


It) 


BRTITND  THE  BARS^;  .‘B49H. 


and  asked  liiin  to  tell  me  about  the  battle.  Ills  description  of 
it  was  so  nearly  identical  with  that  of  my  father  that  it  is 
hard  for  me,  in  memor\\  to  separate  them. 

( — I am  in  “Banker’s  Row;’’  ground  floor.  There  are 
four  .stories  of  cells  above  me.  At  that  black  mark  a prisoner 
near  me  called  to  one  several  stories  above  me  and  .said:  “Oh, 
Morgan;  have  you  anything  up  there  for  me  to  read?”  The 
pri.soner  above  said:  “Yes;  I’ve  got  a Bible,’’  and  the  man 
below  .said;  “Oh,  you  go  to  hell.’’  ) 

>1;  ^ 

Summer  before  last  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Vincent  H.  Perkins,  of 
Chicago,  were  at  our  home,  and  as  we  sat  out  under  the  porch, 
under  the  honeysuckles,  I told  them  the  story  of  Parker  Craig 
NichoLson.  Mr.  Perkins  .said  that,  some  day,  I ought  to  write 
it  for  a magazine.  I will  probably  never  .see  my  home  again 
and  will  tell  the  story  here. 

My  father  had  a brother  named  John,  who  did  not  go  to 
the  war.  As  far  back  as  I can  remember,  and  to  his  death. 
Uncle  John  was  a rich  farmer,  living  about  six  miles  from  1113" 
father.  Later,  I ma}'  tell  you,  if  I do  not  forget  it,  how 
James  Lane  Allen  wrote  his  first  magazine  article  from  a .stor}" 
that  I told  him,  at  “Quakeracre,”  about  Uncle  John.  One 
day,  long  before  I can  remember,  there  came  to  the  home  of 
my  Uncle  John  an  entire  stranger.  He  told  my  Uncle  that  he 
had  known  his  brothers,  Thomas  and  Chilton — my  father  was 
always  called  by  his  middle  name — in  the  army.  The  stranger 
said  that  his  name  was  Nicholson  and  ever3'bod3'  called  him 
Major,  as  far  back  as  I can  recollect.  Uncle  John  was  familiar 
with  the  war  experiences  of  his  brothers,  and  soon  .saw  that 
the  stranger  knew  about  them,  though,  as  it  proved,  neither 
my  father  nor  my  Uncle  Thomas  could  ever  remember  to  have 
known  an3dhing  of  Major  Nicholson  in  the  war.  Uncle  John 
had  a plain  and  not  very  large  house,  but  he  was  famous  for 
his  hospitality.  Uncle  John  invited  the  stranger  into  his 
home.  The  Major  was  dignified  and  agreeable  and  gentle- 
manly, and  accepted  my  Uncle’s  invitation  to  ,sta}^  to  dinner. 
The  Major  and  my  Uncle  became  .so  engaged  in  conversation 
that  the)"  talked  until  near  supper  time,  and  the  Major  accepted 


BETIIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


1? 


an  invitation  to  supper,  and  to  spend  tlie  night. 

The  next  morning  the}'  met  at  the  breakfast  table,  and 
the  Major  and  my  Uncle  talked  on  to  dinner,  and  when  dinner 
was  announced,  walked  together,  into  dinner,  without  break- 
ing their  conversation.  The  Major  .spent  the  .second  day  and 
the  second  night,  third  day  and  third  night,  and  so  on,  until 
on  the  sixth  day  my  Uncle  proposed  to  take  him  to  a public 
sale  in  the  neighborhood.  Nothing  had  ever  been  said  about 
any  terms  upon  which  the  Major  was  staying  at  my  Uncle’s, 
and  no  allusion  had  ever  been  made  to  it  by  the  Major,  or  by 
any  of  the  family  in  his  pre.sence.  At  the  sale  my  Uncle  in- 
troduced the  Major  to  various  friends.  One  of  them  asked, 
“Major,  where  do  you  live?”  and  the  Major  .said,  “At  Cap- 
tain John  Moore’s,  sir.’’  The  reply  astonished  my  Uncle,  but 
he  said  nothing  about  it.  Some  days  after  that  the  Major 
came  to  see  my  father.  He  was  kindly  received.  My  father 
had  a large  house.  The  Major  spent  the  da>'  there,  and  at 
night  was  taken  to  the  best  guest  chamber  in  the  house.  He 
spent  several  days  at  my  father’s,  and  each  evening  of  the 
summer  days,  immediately  after  supper,  he  would,  without 
any  light,  walk  off  to  that  room,  before  any  arrangement  had 
been  made  for  others  going  to  bed,  simply  saying,  “Good 
night.”  He  was  always  ready  for  breakfa,st,  dressed  with 
scrupulous  neatness. 

At  the  end  of  a year  from  that  time  the  Major  was  living 
just  that  same  way  at  my  Uncle’s,  coming  to  .spend  a few 
days  with  us  every  two  or  three  weeks,  and  he  lived  there  and 
at  my  father’s  just  that  same  way,  for  forty  years,  until  he 
died,  at  .seventy  years  of  age,  at  my  Uncle  John’s,  honored 
and  re.spected  by  all  who  knew  him.  He  never  paid  anything 
for  his  living.  He  was  buried  at  “Old  Union”  Church,  of 
which  the  families  of  my  Uncle  and  my  father  were  members, 
and  of  which  the  Major  had  been,  for  years,  a member.  A 
nice  monument  was  put  over  him,  and  it  and  funeral  expen.ses 
were  paid  for  out  of  about  $800  00  the  Major  left  in  a Uexing- 
ton  bank.  Though  my  Uncle  Thomas  had  a fine  home  and 
was  wealthy  and  hospitable,  and  lived  not  more  than  twenty 
miles  away,  I never  heard  of  the  Major  going  to  see  him. 


18 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


None  of  us  ever  had  anj\clue  to  the  Major’s  history  further 
than  I have  told  you.  For  some  years  before  he  died  he 
would  say  that,  next  j'ear,  he  was  going  back  to  “Jerse5^” 
as  he  called  New  Jersey.  He  said  that  so  long,  that  it  got  to 
be  a joke,  though  none  of  us  dared  to  ask  him  about  it. 

One  summer  day,  sure  enough,  the  Major  started  back  to 
New  Jersey,  and  we  supposed  we  would  never  .see  him  again. 
He  was  gone  only  a month  or  two  until  he  came  back.  He 
never  said  anything  about  his  visit  to  New  Jersey.  The  best 
room  in  my  father’s  house  was  called  “Major  Nicholson’s 
room’’  until  after  the  Major  died,  and  it  was  assigned  to  me. 
There  were  two  other  very  poor  men  who  occasionly  came  to 
our  house  to  spend  a day  or  two.  The  Major  would  not 
recognize  them,  and  if  he  found  either  of  them  there  when  he 
got  there,  he  would  leave  in  disgust. 

The  Major  had,  nearly  all  the  time,  one  or  two  fine  mares 
at  my  father’s  farm,  but  he  never  paid  a cent  for  their  keep- 
ing, and  from  the  sales  of  their  colts  the  Major  always  had 
plenty  of  good  clothes  and  saddles  and  bridles  and  pocket 
money  for  his  moderate  habits.  His  only  jewelry  was  a 
breast-pin  in  his  nice  shirt-bosom.  The  pin  was  two  hearts 
with  a dart  through  them.  As  a boy  I used  to  want  to  ask 
him  about  that  pin,  but,  like  my  father,  he  was  so  dignified 
and  reserved  in  his  style,  that  I never  dared  mention  it  to 
him.  In  later  years  I have  wondered  if  there  was  not  .some- 
thing about  that  breast-pin  that  connected  his  peculiar  life 
with  some  love  affair. 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


19 


CHAPTER  II. 

Before  I go  further  with  my  own  special  biography,  I am 
going  to  tell  you  one  of  the  strange  stories  of  the  great  variety 
of  crimes  that  have  been  committed  by  my  companions  here, 
as  they  have  told  them  to  me.  The  man  who  tells  me  this 
particular  one  is  here  for  a burglary  that  has  no  connection 
with  his  story  that  I am  going  to  tell  you.  I told  him  that  I 
wanted  to  put  the  story  in  my  book,  and  he  gave  me  his  con- 
sent. He  is  fairly  good  looking  and  speaks  English  and  Ger- 
man equally  well.  He  was  working  in  a tobacco  field  in 
Mexico,  in  April,  1898.  He  is  now  26  years  old.  He  had  a 
Spanish  sweetheart  named  Meda,  an  uncommon  name,  he 
.says,  in  Mexico.  The  tobacco  field  was  in  a plain  and  Meda’s 
house  was  on  a very  high  bluff  a considerable  distance  away, 
but  in  full  view  of  the  man  in  the  tobacco  field,  who  is  now 
my  fellow-prisoner.  One  day  while  the  prisoner  was  working 
in  that  field  he  saw  a man  go  into  Meda’s  house,  and  knew 
that  she  was  there  alone,  for  he  had  seen  all  the  other  mem- 
bers of  the  family  go  away  from  home  only  a short  while  be- 
fore. The  prisoner  then  saw  Meda  run  from  the  house,  and 
jump  off  a high  cliff,  and  kill  herself  on  the  rocks  below.  He 
saw  the  man  go  out  of  the  house  and  ride  away  on  a horse, 
and  soon  after  that  saw  that  the  house  was  burning. 

The  man  who  is  now  a prisoner  followed  the  other  man, 
and  saw  him  go  into  a dense  forest  and  hitch  his  horse  in  a 
secluded  place,  and  then  go  behind  a large  rock.  The  prisoner 
had  a machete  with  him.  He  went  up  to  the  rock  on  the  side 
opposite  where  the  man  was  sitting,  and,  creeping  around  it, 
found  the  man  and  jumped  on  him,  and  cut  him  several  times 
so  severely  with  the  machete  that  the  man  could  not  rise, 
though  he  did  not  seem  to  be  mortally  wounded.  There  are 
there  very  large  ants  called  Hormiga  Colorado.  They  travel, 
in  myriads,  in  a little  path,  and  will  attack,  with  great  fierce- 
ness, any  man  or  animal  that  obstructs  their  course  in  that 
path.  They  are  an  inch  long,  and  their  bite  is  very  severe. 
The  prisoner  saw  a stream  of  these  ants  as  he  approached  the 
rock  behind  which  the  man  was.  He  dragged  the  wounded 


20 


BEHIND  THE  BAER;  31498. 


man  to  this  stream  of  ants  and  fastened  him  to  a small  tree 
with  the  man’s  stirrup  leathers,  so  that  the  man’s  body  would 
be  across  the  stream  of  ants.  The  ants  rushed  over  the 
screaming  man  until  his  body  was  covered  with  millions  of 
them.  The  pri,soner  watched  them  until  they  had  cleaned  all 
the  flesh  from  the  man’s  bones. 

^ ^ ^ 

The  home  of  my  parents  was  a two-story  brick,  having 
thirteen  rooms,  .seven  halls,  and  a two-story  porch  in  front 
and  a one-.story  porch  behind.  It  was  not  a fine  house,  but 
was  very  commodious  and  .splendidly  adapted  to  the  hospi- 
tality for  which  it  was  famous.  It  was  de.stroyed  by  fire  soon 
after  the  war,  and  a smaller  one,  belonging  to  my  sister,  the 
only  remaining  member  of  the  large  family  beside  myself,  now 
occupies  a part  of  the  .site  of  the  old  one.  My  .sister’s  hus- 
band, Major  Thomas  Y.  Brent,  of  the  Confederate  service, 
was  killed  at  the  head  of  a regiment  of  which  he  was  an  officer, 
on  the  morning  of  July  4,  1863,  as  they  charged  a Federal 
fort  at  Green  River  bridge,  in  Kentucky.  He  was  the  grand- 
est looking  .soldier  I ever  saw.  He  was  in  the  command  of 
Gen.  John  H.  Morgan,  who.se  escape  from  this  penitentiary, 
with  a number  of  his  men,  is  one  of  the  traditional  stories  of 
this,  the  largest  pri.son  in  the  world,  containing  twenty-seven 
acres  of  ground  and  over  2,300  prisoners. 

Through  the  middle  of  my  father’ s farm  ran  a beautiful 
creek  about  seventy  feet  wide.  On  this  creek  I .spent  much  of 
my  young  boyhood,  walking,  sitting,  swimming,  fishing  and 
skating,  much  the  greater  part  of  the  time  alone,  and  my 
mind  generally  occupied  in  “air  castling,’’  in  the  common 
sense  of  the  expression  and  much  in  a more  literal  .sense,  for 
I have  spent  much  time  thinking  about  the  navigation  of  the 
air.  In  after  years  when  I was  a preacher  and  traveler  afoot, 
through  the  mountains  of  Kentucky,  I looked  down  upon  the 
backs  of  buzzards  sailing  near  abrupt  precipices  below  me  and 
have  believed  from  then  to  this  day,  that  there  is,  in  all  .soar- 
ing birds,  a dynamic  force,  the  secret  of  which  is,  as  yet,  un- 
known to  man,  but  which,  .some  day,  will  be  di.scovered,  and 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


21 


it  will  be  surprising  that  so  simple  a thing  as  a man’s  travel- 
ing through  the  air  was  not  sooner  known. 

A place  on  the  farm  that  attracted  much  of  my  attention 
and  thought,  and  where  I spent  a good  many  hours,  was 
known  then,  as  it  is  now,  as  “the  fortification,’’  It  is  evi- 
dently a pre- historic  fort,  the  oldest  trees  of  the  forest  in  my 
earliest  recollection  growing  in  the  bottom  of  its  ditch  and  on 
the  top  of  the  bank  which  has  been  thrown  up  around  it.  The 
ditch  is  now  eight  or  ten  feet  deep  and  three  hundred  feet  in 
circumference.  Strange-looking  pre-historic  relics  and  many 
flint  arrow  heads  and  numerous  stone  axes  have  been  found 
near  there  in  my  memory.  To  this  day  I watch  for  any  clue 
to  its  history,  but  have  never  found  any.  The  old  family 
home  is  named  Forest  Retreat. 

The  nearest  and  most  intimate  of  our  neighbors  was  Mrs. 
Polly  Breckinridge,  the  mother  of  Rev.  Dr.  Robert  J.  Breck- 
inridge, and  grand-mother  of  the  “silver  tongued’’  orator, 
Hon.  W.  C.  P.  Breckinridge.  At  the  time  her  hou.se  was 
built  it  was  among  the  finest  in  this  country.  It  was  very 
quaint  and  was  very  old  when  I first  knew  it.  She  was  strong- 
minded,  but  her  education  was  only  what  was  common  for  the 
day  and  country  in  which  she  was  born.  Notes  that  she  wrote 
my  mother  were  given  away  as  literary  curiosities.  Their 
spelling  and  chirography  were  original.  My  mother  gener- 
ally managed  to  find  out  what  was  in  them  by  a.sking  the 
Negro  servant,  generall)"  small  and  loquacious,  what  the  old 
lady  said.  A broad  avenue  from  her  house  ran,  at  a right  an- 
gle, into  a broad  avenue  from  our  house,  and  there  was  scarcel}" 
a day  that  a .servant  did  not  bring  .some  nice  thing,  generall}" 
something  to  eat,  for  my  mother,  and  my  mother  sent  many 
things  to  her.  She  gave  to  my  sister  and  me,  each,  a little 
tin  plate,  to  eat  off  of,  and  around  the  margins  of  these  plates 
were  the  letters  of  the  alphabet  with  an  & at  the  end.  as  all 
alphabets  had  in  tho.se  days,  and,  as  I now  recollect,  it  was 
from  those  plates  that  I first  learned  my  letters.  If  I had 
never  learned  them  I would  probably  not  be  here.  The  man 
who  made  those  plates,  like  Cadmus,  carried  letters  into 
grease.  When  I can  first  remember  old  Mrs.  Breckinridge, 


22 


BEHIND  THE  BARS,  31498. 


she  had  been  blind  for  many  years.  She  sent  so  many  things 
to  my  mother,  sometimes  two  or  three  times  a day — among 
other  things  the  first  oysters  I ever  saw,  then  ver}^  expensive 
— that  my  mother  became  afraid  that  the  old  lady  forgot  how 
much  she  sent,  or  that  possibly  the  Negro  servants  were  just 
bringing  her  things  on  their  own  responsibility.  So,  one 
day,  my  mother  determined  to  tell  the  old  lady  about  it.  Mrs. 
Breckinridge  affected  a severity  of  style,  just  as  her  son 
Robert  J.  did. 

My  mother,  with  some  misgivings,  and  fear  of  the  old 
lady’s  tongue,  went  to  see  Mrs.  Breckinridge,  and,  in  an  em- 
barrassed style,  told  the  old  lady  about  how  many  things  her 
servants  brought  to  our  house.  Mrs.  Breckinridge  said,  “I  am 
blind,  Madam,  but,  thank  God,  I am  not  a fool,  and  if  you 
wdll  just  attend  to  your  own  business,  I will  try  to  attend  to 
mine;”  and  nice  things  came  on,  every  day,  the  balance  of  the 
old  lady’s  life.  I have  known  many  Breckinridges,  and  what 
I have  said  of  the  old  lady  was  characteristic  of  all  of  them. 
I remember  the  first  time  I ever  .saw  John  C.  Breckinridge, 
subsequently  Vice  President  of  the  United  States,  and  more 
immediately  than  any  other  one  man  the  cause  of  our  civil 
war.  The  first  room  I ever  had  for  my  own,  in  ray  large  old 
home,  was  a small  room  at  the  head  of  a back  stairwa}",  in 
which  John  C.  Breckinridge  and  his  widowed  mother  had  lived 
when  he  was  a small  boy. 

About  three  miles  from  my  old  home  a man,  without  per- 
mission, had  gone  onto  the  farm  of  another  man  and  had  cut 
down  a ‘‘bee  tree”  and  had  taken  the  honey.  Probably  under 
the  earlier  unwritten  law  of  the  country  all  wild  honey  be- 
longed to  the  man  who  found  it,  but  now  a man  was  claiming 
it  because  it  was  found  on  his  farm,  and  the  owner  of  the  tree 
demanded  $5.00  indemnit}',  The  suit  wms  brought  in  a mag- 
istrate’s court  in  the  country,  the  complainant  employing  John 
C.  Breckinridge,  and  the  defendant  employing  Bob  Woolley, 
now"  of  Louisville,  and,  at  that  time,  promising  to  be  as  di.s- 
tinguished  as  Breckinridge;  the  tw'o  just  beginning  to  attract 
attention.  There  w"as  a general  impression  that  there  w'as 
going  to  be  something  rare  in  oratory,  and  a large  crowd  of 


BEHiNi)  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


28 


people  came,  and  sat  upon  seats  of  planks  on  logs,  in  the 
woods.  The  only  witness  in  the  case  was  for  the  prosecution. 
He  stated  that  he  “surrounded  the  bee  tree,”  in  the  night  and 
saw  the  accused  chopping  it  down.  Woolley  attacked  the 
idea  of  any  one  man  “surrounding  a tree,”  and  attempted  to 
invalidate  his  testimony  on  that  ground,  and  Breckinridge  de- 
fended the  testimony.  The  people  laughed  and  applauded, 
first  on  one  side  and  then  the  other,  until  “order  in  the  court” 
was  impossible.  The  famous  speech  of  “Sargeant  Buzzfuzz” 
in  the  case  of  “Bardell  vs.  Pickwick,”  was  equaled  by  either 
of  the  orators  in  this  bee  tree  case,  and  I think  from  that 
speech,  largely,  began  the  fame  of  Breckinridge. 

I had  noticed  that  the  two  orators  came  from  Lexington, 
in  the  same  buggy,  and  I was  solicitous  lest,  from  the  bitter 
things  they  said  against  each  other  in  their  speeches,  they 
would  fight  on  the  road  if  they  started  back  together.  I 
watched  with  surprise  and  pleasure  as  they  got  into  the  same 
buggy,  with  no  evidence  of  anger. 

In  sight  of  my  window,  at  “Quakeracre,”  is  “Castleton,” 
now  managed  by  Major  Daingerfield,  of  the  late  Confederate 
service.  The  Major  now  carries,  in  parts  of  his  anatomy,  two 
minie  balls,  property  of  the  United  States  Government, 
which  he  not  only  declines  to  deliver  to  the  rightful  owner — 
unless  the  Government  is  now  barred  by  the  statute  of  limita- 
tions and  thirty-two  years  of  “peaceable  possession” — but  also 
in  defiance  of  the  law  against  carrying  concealed  weapons, 
though  the  reconstructed  Major  is,  in  all  other  things,  an  ex- 
emplary, law-abiding  man.  The  Major  manages  “Castleton” 
for  his  brother-in-law,  James  R.  Keene,  the  Wall  Street  broker 
and  multi-millionaire  and  turfman.  In  sight  of  m}"  gate  is  a 
handsome  granite  monument  over  the  morcal  remains  of 
“Domino,”  the  horse  that  won  $120,000.00  for  Keene,  with  an 
epitaph  that  any  man  might  emulate.  At  “Castleton”  was 
born  the  only  playmate  and  schoolmate  that  I ever  had  who 
was  too  lazy  to  play.  He  studied  the  Shorter  Catechism  for 
several  years  that  I went  to  school  with  him.  The  first  few 
pages  of  his  book  were  worn  out,  while  the  pages,  from  there 
on,  seemed  never  to  have  been  opened.  He  is  now  one  of  the 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


most  attractive  and  influential  men  in  Kentuck3^  He  was  a 
Captain  in  the  Confederate  service;  he  is  now  Brigadier-Gen- 
eral John  B.  Castleman  of  the  United  States  Army.  I believe 
everj-  man  should  have  his  mo.st  honorable  title,  so  I still  call 
him  Captain. 

Fannie  Castleman  was  born  at  “Castleton.”  She  is  now 
the  widow  of  Judge  Eastin,  of  the  Kentucky  Court  of  Ap- 
peals. She  is  one  of  the  handsomest  women  in  Kentuckj'^, 
with  graces  of  heart  and  mind  to  match — Kentuckj’  famous, 
worldwide,  for  its  beautiful  w'omen,  fast  horses,  whisky  and 
tobacco.  She  was  born  that  way  and  couldn’t  get  over  it. 
vShe  and  I were  country  school  girls  together,  but  when  we 
went  off  to  college  we  did  not  meet  each  other  for  two  or  three 
3'ears.  When  I came  home,  one  vacation,  I walked  across 
the  pastures  of  the  adjoining  farms  upon  which  we  lived,  to 
see  her.  I was  perfectly  astonished  at  her  development,  phys- 
ically and  intellectually,  and  her  piano  playing  was  ex- 
quisite. Her  conversational  powers  were  charming.  When  I 
had  made  a delightful  call,  during  which  she,  all  the  time, 
called  me  “Charlie,”  while  I had  to  .say  “Miss  Fannie,”  I 
arose  to  go,  and  after  several  of  those  .sweet,  and  appareuth^ 
accidental,  detentions  that  .some  bright  women  can  so  effectu- 
ally coinpa.ss,  when  they  want  to,  .she  .said  to  me,  “Wait  until 
I get  my  bonnet,  and  I will  go  part  of  the  way  with  3’ou.” 
She  ran  out  and  returned,  having  on  a common  sun-bonnet, 
that  made  a quaint,  but  cute,  contrast  with  the  balance  of  her 
handsome  toilet.  We  walked  slowly  out  of  the  immen.se  yard 
and  into  the  large  and  splendid  woods!  There  was  not  a word 
of  sweetheart  talk  in  anything  we  said,  and  yet  ever>'thing 
seemed  to  have  a meaning  that  was  beautiful  and  patent,  on 
the  .surface,  and  then,  in  addition,  seemed  to  have  another  far- 
off  meaning  that  was  not  .spoken.  Finally,  she  .stopped  out  in 
the  middle  of  a large  pasture;  one  of  the  mo,st  beautiful  in 
Kentucky.  It  was  one  of  tho.se  earlv  fall  da}'s  in  which  na- 
ture .sometimes  seems  just  to  be  trying  her  hand  to  see  what 
she  can  do  to  make  ever\’thing  lovely  and  beautiful.  Fannie 
held  out  her  hand  to  say  “Good-bye,”  and  I put  out  mine  to 
take  it,  and  she  turned  up  her  pretty  mouth  for  me  to  kiss, 
and  “we  kissed  by  chance,  the  usual  way.” 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  ; 31498. 


25 


I felt  that  the  elegant  thing  would  be  for  me  to  go  back 
home  with  her,  and  then  I thought  of  the  saying,  “Quit  while 
your  credit’s  good,”  and’ I pretended  to  believe  she  was  in 
earnest  when  she  said  she  did  not  want  me  to  go  back  with 
her,  and  now,  away  off  here,  an  old  gray-headed  convict,  I 
feel  that,  college  or  no  college,  I was  nothing  but  a common 
country  bumpkin  that  I did  not  go  back  with  her,  even  if  she 
had  come  back  with  me  a part  of  the  way  again,  and  we  had 
the  whole  thing  to  do  over  again.  In  years  we  hardly  met 
again,  and  one  of  the  times  was  in  the  streets  of  Lexington. 
We  simply  clasped  hands  and  hardly  spoke.  She  had  only 
lately  lost  the  onlj^  child  she  ever  had,  a beautiful  boy,  and  I 
had  only  lately  lost  our  first  born,  a beautiful  curly-headed  girl. 

Another  locality  near  my  home,  that  made  its  impress  on 
my  life,  is  Russell’s  Cave.  At  this  place  I got  my  first  im- 
pressions of  geology  that  I kept  up  from  books,  subsequently, 
and  from  personal  observation  in  the  mountains  of  my  own 
State,  and  more  especially  by  several  visits  to  the  Mam- 
moth Cave,  of  Kentucky;  and  things  I thus  learned,  in  this 
wonderful  science,  got  mixed  up  with  the  Mosaic  cosmogony 
when  I finally  came  to  stud 5'  theology,  and  the  blending  had 
much  to  do  with  my  being  in  this  prison.  At  this  cave,  at  a 
political  .speaking,  at  which  Cas.sius  M.  Clay  was  the  orator, 
there  occurred  a most  horrible  fight  between  him,  standing 
alone  in  his  opposition  to  .slavery,  and  Samuel  Brown,  the 
champion  of  the  .slavery  cau.se.  Brown  shot  Clay  .squarely  in 
the  body,  but  before  he  could  shoot  a second  time  Clay  was  on 
Brown  with  a Bowie-knife,  the  weapon  for  the  handling  of 
which  Clay  was  famous,  and  Brown  was  fearfully  cut  in  many 
places,  but  .survived  it,  by  the  hardest,  and  Avas  sub.sequentlv 
killed  in  a steamboat  explo.sion.  It  was  said  by  many  of  the 
p*'o-.slaverA’  enemies  of  Clay  that  he  was  saved  from  Brown’s 
shot  because  he  fCla)Q  had  a coat-of-mail  under  his  clothes, 
but  others  said  at  the  time,  as  is  now'  generally  understood, 
that  the  ball  w'hich  Brown  fired  failed  to  kill  Clay  becau.se  it 
struck  the  scabbard  of  Clay’s  Bowie-knife.  That  fight  be- 
tw'een  Cla}^  and  Brown,  and  another  fight  in  which  Clay,  Avith 
his  BoAA'ie-knife,  killed  a man  at  White  Hall,  Kentuckjq  both 


26 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


growing  out  of  Clay’s  opposition  to  slavery,  were  the  first 
skirmishes  that  grew  larger  and  larger  until  they  resulted  in 
the  war  that  emancipated  7,000,000  of  slaves. 

The  leading  citizens  of  Lexington  combined  in  destroying 
the  printing  office  of  Mr.  Clay  in  which  he  edited  a paper 
against  slaver>^  Force  does  not  seem  to  succeed  in  its  efforts 
to  suppress  the  truth.  Cassius  M.  Clay  is,  by  large  odds,  the 
greatest  hero  that  Kentucky  ever  produced,  though  Lincoln 
was  born  on  its  soil.  He  is  living  to-day,  in  Kentucky,  a 
neglected  man — neglected  and  unhonored  by  the  Negroes  for 
whose  emancipation  he  took  his  life  in  one  hand  and  his  Bowie- 
knife  in  the  other  and  dared  to  think  and  say  what  he  thought, 
and  to  say  it  without  mincing  words.  My  knowledge  of  Clay’s 
career  taught  me  that,  .sometimes,  the  man  who  everybody 
says  is  wrong  is  really  the  only  man  who  is  right. 

A little  further  on  is  the  home  of  my  distinguished  and 
loved  kinsman,  the  elder  Carter  Henry  Harrison,  the  assassin- 
ated Mayor  of  Chicago.  When  he  was  a young  man  and  I a 
little  boy  he  u.sed  to  visit  my  home,  and,  many  a time,  have  I 
ridden  behind  my  mother  on  a hor.se  as  she  went  to  .see  his 
widowed  mother.  His  di.stinction  was  a natural  result  from 
his  breeding  and  rearing.  I was  reading  his  beautiful  and  in- 
structive book,  “A  Race  with  the  Sun,”  when  I heard  of  his 
assassination. 

I have  sent  the  manuscript  of  my  book  home  to  my  wife, 
as  I have  written  it  and  cannot  change  it,  and  so  I want  to  tell 
you  .something  that  I forgot  to  tell  you  when  we  were  talking 
about  ‘ ‘Cabellsdale,  ” the  old  home  of  old  Mrs.  Breckinridge. 
In  the  large  yard  of  "Cabellsdale,”  there  was  when  I can  first 
remember  a log  hou.se  of  two  looms,  that  was  then  being  u.sed 
as  a Negro  calkin  Mrs.  Breckinridge  u.sed  to  tell  us  how,  in 
that  house,  she  entertained  Aaron  Burr  and  Chief  Justice 
Marshall.  The  latter  was  my  grand-father  Moore  s "best 
man’’  when  he  was  married.  I u.sed  to  hear  that  the  names 
of  Burr  and  Marshall  had  been  written  by  themselves  on  the 
inner  walls  of  that  old  hou.se,  but  I could  never  find  them. 
At  that  old  house  was  the  first  time  I ever  saw  "Billy”  Breck- 
inridge, since  then  ranking  with  Clay,  Menifee  and  Tom  Mar- 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


27 


shall  ill  the  galaxy  of  Kentucky  orators.  There  was  visiting 
at  “Cabellsdale”  a United  States  Army,  or  Navy,  officer,  who 
had  been  shot,  in  battle,  through  both  hips  so  that  he  could 
not  stand  up,  but  he  moved  himself  around  in  a wheel  chair 
over  the  large  hall  and  rooms  and  porches  at  “Cabellsdale.” 
This  officer,  whose  name  I forget,  unless  it  was  Grayson,  and 
Billy  and  I,  little  boys,  were  on  the  back  porch  when  the  of- 
ficer ran  the  large  hind  wheel  of  his  chair  over  the  edge  of  the 
first  of  about  six  or  eight  steps,  and  was  falling  helplessly 
down  them,  when  Billy  and  I,  at  the  same  moment,  ran  under 
the  chair  and  catching  it  on  our  shoulders,  only  with  all  of 
our  united  strength  succeeded  in  getting  him  back  into  a safe 
position.  Thus  though,  in  our  young  days,  Billy  and  I liter- 
ally put  our  shoulders  to  the  wheel  together,  and  each  of  us 
began  life  as  a preacher,  they  afterward  sent  him  to  Congress, 
and  sent  me  to  the  penitentiary.  He  and  I have  been  heard 
of  by  more  people  than  any  other  two  living  Lexingtonians. 

I went  to  school  with  Billy’s  brothers,  but  only  one  day 
with  Billy.  He  spent  that  day  .sitting  straddle  of  a bench, 
reading  a novel.  The  most  brilliant  conversation  I remember 
ever  to  have  heard  between  anj'  j^oung  man  and  young  woman 
was  between  Billy  Breckinridge  and  Miss  Rebecca  Dixon, 
daughter  of  Governor  Dixon  of  Kentucky,  and  now  wife  of 
Ex-Governor  Brown  of  Kentucky.  When  I was  the  prisoner  of 
the  Christian,  or  Campbellite,  Church,  in  jail,  at  Paris,  Ken- 
tucky, and  my  wife  .seemed  very  liable  to  die,  some  of  m}- 
friends  went  to  Governor  Brown  to  get  him  to  allow  me  to  go, 
under  guard,  for  one  day  to  the  bedside  of  my  wife,  and  he 
would  not  do  it.  I do  not  believe  in  Nemesis  or  in  anything 
supernatural,  but  a fearful  affliction  fell  upon  the  Governor’s 
famih’  not  long  after  that.  Billy  Breckinridge,  now  an  editor, 
has  written  an  editorial  regarding  my  imprisonment  here  as 
being  unjust. 

The  neighborhood  in  which  I was  born  is  the  center  of  a 
strange  folklore.  The  farm  of  Carter  Harrison  was  bought 
by  a man  named  Peniston,  out  of  a part  of  $500,000  that  he 
won  as  the  highest  prize  in  the  Havana  lottery.  Peni.ston 
lived  at  the  Harrison  place,  and  I kept  his  bank  account  as  a 


28 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


book-keeper  in  the  bankiug  house  of  Grinstead  & Bradley, 
Lexington,  Kentucky.  Peniston  had  been  an  actor.  In  two 
or  three  )'ears  Peniston  was  a bankrupt,  and  was  a pauper  in- 
mate of  a home  that  Ned  Forest  had  built  for  indigent  actors 
in  New  York.  Forest  began  his  career  as  an  actor  in  a build- 
ing of  his  own  on  Water  street  in  Lexington.  His  plan  was 
to  have  a perpetual  play  at  that  place,  and  all  of  the  plays 
were  to  have  horses  in  them,  like  “Mazeppa.” 

My  wife  who,  as  you  have  seen,  says,  “I  am  proud  to  be 
a convict’s  wife  under  existing  circumstances — ” and  I,  on 
our  bridal  tour,  heard  Forest,  McCullough  and  Edwin  Booth, 
all  in  “Othello,”  at  Washington.  I know  I am  “ahead  of 
the  hounds,”  but,  please  remember,  that  I am  writing  in  a cell 
and  am  liable  to  interruption,  and  have  to  tell  you  .some  things 
just  as  1 think  of  them. 

I thought  the  bankiug  house  of  Grinstead  & Bradley  was 
the  most  successful  banking  institution  I had  ever  seen.  Its 
individual  ledger  that  I kept  was  the  heavie.st  single  case  of 
lx)ok-keeping  in  Lexington.  The  “Blue  Grass  Region”  of 
Kentucky  is  the  greatest  race  horse  country  in  the  world,  and 
that  banking  hou.se  was  the  financial  center  of  the  race  horse 
interest.  Mr.  Griu.stead,  the  active  member  of  the  firm,  was 
one  of  the  most  popular  men  I ever  saw.  He  was,  in  many 
re.spects,  .so  much  like  old  “Pickwick,”  spectacles  and  all, 
that  I a.sked  him,  one  day,  if  anybody  had  ever  told  him  that 
he  was  like  “Pickwick.”  He  laughed  and  .said,  “Many  a 
time.”  While  I was  there  there  u.sed  to  come  into  the  bank  a 
little  foundling  boy  named  Eddy  Ki.s.singer.  He  was  an  adept 
in  playing  the  bones,  and  he  would  frequently  come  into  the 
bank  and  play  for  us  and  go  away  with  pay  anywhere  from 
five  cents  to  a quarter.  Mr.  Griu.stead  died  without  enough 
to  pay  his  funeral  expen.ses,  and  Eddy,  a well-to-do  farmer, 
furnished  a part  of  the  money  to  bury  him. 

One  dark  night,  oul}^  two  or  three  years  ago,  a man  who 
had  never  before  been  in  ni}^  neighborhood,  called  at  my  yard 
gate  in  the  country,  not  knowing  whose  home  it  was,  to  in- 
quire the  way  to  a neighboring  house.  I recognized  the  voice 
as  that  of  Eddy  Kissinger,  though  I had  not  seen  him  for 


BEHIND  THE  BARS:  31498. 


29 


years.  He  said  that  he  owned  two  farms  and  that  I must 
come  to  see  him  and  see  his  collection  of  musical  instruments. 
I do  not  think  I was  a first-cla.ss  bank  clerk,  but  I lost  my 
position  with  Grinstead  & Bradley  unexpectedly,  and  when  I 
was  on  the  best  of  terms  with  them.  I was  told  some  years 
after,  by  an  intimate  friend  of  Mr.  Grinstead,  that  it  was  be- 
cause I talked  against  hor.se  racing.  I do  not  know  whether 
this  is  true.  I had  a singular  experience  in  the  banking  busi- 
ness which  I will  tell  now  while  we  are  on  that  subject, 
though  it  is  anticipating  in  telling  this  story  of  my  life. 

I will  not  in  these  in.stances  tell  the  names  of  some  par- 
ties, because  I do  not  wish  to  hurt  the  feelings  of  some  good 
people  who  were  their  friends.  I had  a position  in  the  De- 
posit Bank  of  Georgetown.  There  was  never  any  unpleasant- 
ness between  me  and  any  officer  of  the  bank  but  once.  It 
grew  out  of  the  fact  that  I claimed  that  I owed  the  bank  $7.00, 
when  the  cashier  said  I did  not  owe  it  anything.  I lost  my 
position  in  that  bank,  as  I always  thought,  because  I talked 
against  the  Christian  religion.  A man  who  was  put  in  mj^ 
place  misused  the  bank’s  money,  was  put  in  the  Kentucky 
penitentiary  for  it,  and  was  killed  by  a guard  in  attempting  to 
escape.  I applied  for  a position  in  another  bank.  I was 
beaten  by  one  vote  by  a young  man  of  splendid  family.  He 
was  charged  with  having  stolen  $15,000  from  the  bank,  was 
arrested  and  tried,  and  nine  out  of  the  twelve  jurymen  voted 
to  send  him  to  the  penitentiary.  The  ca.se,  after  several  trials, 
in  which  juries  did  not  agree,  was  finally  dismissed  from  the 
courts.  I tried  to  get  a po.sition  where  there  was  a vacancy 
in  another  bank.  It  was  gotten  bj^  the  superintendent  of  a 
Sunday  school.  He  stole  the  money  of  the  bank  and  ran  off, 
deserting  a pretty  and  lovely  little  wife,  and  has  never  re- 
turned. I never  applied  for  any  bank  position  after  that.  I 
never  made  but  one  serious  mi.stake  that  I can  now  recall.  A 
man  came  in  and  handed  me  a thousand-dollar  bill  and  asked 
me  to  give  him  hundred-dollar  bills  for  it.  I gave  him  nine 
one-hundred-dollar  bills  and  a thousand-dollar  bill.  He  took 
it  all  ju.st  to  show  me  that  I had  made  a mistake,  and  then 
handed  it  back  for  correction. 


30 


BEHIND  THE  BARS:  31498. 


I was  the  notary  of  the  bank,  and  used  many  postage 
stamps  in  protesting  notes.  The  bank’s  postage  stamps  were 
about  as  free  as  pins,  but  I never  took  one  in  my  life,  nor  did 
any  bank  ever  lose  a cent  by  me.  cell  is  in  “Banker’s 

Row’’  in  the  penitentiary.  If  novels  told  only  what  actually 
happens,  how  much  more  novel  they  would  be! 

Not  far  from  “Quakeracre’ ’ General  Coxey  lived  for  a 
while.  You  remember  about  the  unarmed  army  he  led  to 
Washington,  and  “Keep  off  the  Grass.’’  Close  by  where 
Coxey  lived,  there  resided  the  poorest  white  woman  that  ever 
dwelt  in  my  neighborhood.  She  had  been  Mis=  Harrison. 
She  was  kin  to  the  two  Presidents  of  that  name,  and  the 
elder  President  Harrison  had  visited  her  father’s  house.  She 
was  riding  in  a chair  in  a small  wagon  and  fell  out  and  killed 
henself.  I will  tell  you  one  more  little  story  about  places  in 
my  neighborhood.  This  is  a rabbit  story,  and  has  to  do  with 
James  L,ane  Allen,  now  famous  over  the  United  States  as  a 
beautiful  writer. 

My  Uncle  John  Moore  owned  a great  man)^  Negroes  and 
a large  pack  of  hounds,  and  took  great  pride  in  being  good  to 
his  Negroes  and  to  his  dogs.  Uncle  John  had  a neighbor  who 
was  severe  on  his  Negroes,  and  who  could  not  bear  to  see  even 
other  people’s  Negroes  idle.  One  day,  in  the  Spring,  there 
was  a large  gang  of  my  Uncle’s  Negroes,  men,  women  and 
children,  all  out  in  a corn-field,  cutting  corn-stalks  with  hoes, 
and  the  pack  of  hounds  was  with  them.  A rabbit  jumped  up, 
and  all  the  dogs  and  all  the  Negroes  started  after  him,  and 
the  clamor  made  by  the  dogs  and  the  Negroes  was  immense. 
Just  then  that  man  who  was  so  hard  on  his  Negroes  came  rid- 
ing by.  The  man  rode  up  to  my  Uncle’s  house  and  reported 
to  him  how  he  had  seen  his  Negroes  neglect  their  work  to  run 
a rabbit.  My  Uncle  heard  him  through,  and  then  said:  “If 

they  hadn’t  done  it,  I would  have  whipped  every  rascal  of 
them.’’  James  Uane  Allen,  before  he  got  to  be  famous,  was  a 
great  friend  to  my  family  and  myself.  I got  him  his  first 
position  as  a teacher,  and  afterward  got  him  a position  in 
Bethany  College,  where  I was  educated.  He  used  frequently 
to  come  to  “Quakeracre.”  He  was  one  of  the  best  eight 


BEHIND  THE  BARS:  31498. 


31 


talkers  I ever  knew.  The  others  were,  Henr}’  Ward  Beecher; 
Prof.  W.  K.  Pendleton,  of  Bethany  College;  W.  B.  Smith, 
Ph.  D.,  now  of  Toulaue  Universit}';  and  Judges  Dick  Reid 
and  J.  Harry  Brent,  the  last  two  of  the  Court  of  Appeals  of 
Kentucky;  Billy  Breckinridge  and  Ingersoll.  Of  course,  I 
mean  now  only  talking  men.  I have  heard  some  women  who 
could  say  things  that  beat  all  those  men  put  together.  One 
day  Mr.  Allen  came  to  our  house,  and  during  our  long  con- 
versation, said  he  was  thinking  of  changing  his  life  from 
teaching  to  writing,  I told  him  at  once,  that  he  ought  to  do 
it.  He  asked  me  what  he  ought  to  write  about,  and  I said; 
“About  the  Negroes  in  the  South;  that  is  a subject  that  is 
fast  growing  into  great  interest.”  He  said  he  was  not  old 
enough  to  know  about  slavery  from  memory,  and  asked  me 
who  could  tell  him  about  it.  I said,  “I  can;  almost  anybody 
can  who  recollects  it.”  I then  started  and  told  him  a number 
of  stories  about  slavery,  showing  the  best  sides  and  the  worst 
sides  of  it.  Among  others,  I told  him  the  rabbit  story  about 
my  Uncle. 

Some  months  afterward,  I went  into  the  book-store  of 
Morton  & Greenwajy  in  Lexington,  and  picked  up  the  last  is- 
sue of  Harper’s  Magazine.  Turning  the  pages  to  look  at  the 
pictures  in  the  magazine,  I saw  a full-page  picture  that  I im- 
mediately recognized  as  the  rabbit  story  of  my  Uncle  John, 
and,  looking  further,  I found  other  stories  that  I had  told  Mr. 
Allen,  and  found  his  name  there,  at  the  end  of  the  first  of 
the  many  printed  articles  I have  seen  from  his  pen.  At  that 
time  I was  a prosperous  farmer,  to  whom  a poor  young  man, 
like  Mr.  Allen,  came  for  advice.  Now  he  lives  in  elegant 
style  in  Washington,  and  I am  a convict,  and  no  word  of  sym- 
pathy comes  from  him  to  me.  ^ 

‘‘What  is  friendship  but  a name, 

A charm  that  lulls  to  sleep?” 

When  I was  eight  years,  old  I went  to  school  the  first 
time.  It  was  in  the  “Valley  School  House,”  an  old  log  school 
house  about  two  miles  from  my  home.  I had  had  a perfect 
horror  of  going  to  school.  My  idea  of  school  teaching  was 
inseparably  connected  with  flogging,  and  it  was,  by  no  means, 


32 


BEHIKD  THE  BARS:  3149t^. 


without  foundation.  People  then  said,  “Spare  the  rod  and 
spoil  the  child.’’  They  now  .say,  “Spare  the  child  and  .spoil 
the  rod.’’  After  I got  to  the  school  I was  .so  relieved  to  find 
it  a .so  ranch  better  place  than  I had  expected,  that  I stretched 
ra)\seif  out  on  a bench  and  went  to  .sleep — the  first  thing  I can 
reraetnber  to  have  done  at  any  .school.  The  .schoo’  hou.se  was 
about  eighteen  feet  square,  and  the  olde.st  benches  in  it  were 
made  of  slabs,  gotten  from  a neighboring  saw-mill,  the  bark 
still  being  on  the  lower  .sides  of  .some  of  them,  while  the  legs 
were  hewn  out  with  an  axe,  and  driven  into  auger  holes. 
There  were,  however,  some  de.sks  that  were  thought  extra 
good  for  that  day.  They  were  made  of  an  unpainted  poplar 
plank  by  a common  house  carpenter,  but  were  regarded  by 
me  as  being  very  luxurious  for  a .school  hou.se.  In  the  warm 
weather  we  built  what  we  called  “the  arbor.’’  It  was  a kind 
of  room  made  against  the  front  wmll  of  the  school  hou.se,  by 
the  boys,  by  putting  forks  in  the  ground  and  stretching  poles 
from  one  to  the  other,  and  covering  the  other  three  sides  and 
the  top  with  limbs  of  trees  wdth  leaves  on  them.  Of  course, 
when  it  rained,  we  just  went  into  the  hou,se.  The  arbor  was 
so  romantic  and  attractive,  and  so  suggestive  of  “Robinson 
Crusoe’’  stories,  that  I began  to  hear  about,  that  I never 
could  study  in  it.  In  that  arbor  I learned  the  irony  in  the 
story  beginning: 

“How  big  was  Alexander,  Pa, 

That  people  call  him  great?” 

And  from  that  day  to  this  I have  never  had  any  admira- 
tion for  military  heroes.  In  the  “Blue-back  Spelling  Book,’’ 
in  that  arbor,  I saw  the  picture  of,  and  read  the  story  of,  the 
boy  in  the  old  man’s  apple  tree,  and  from  that  day  to  this  I 
have  thought  you  could  make  a boy  get  out  of  an  apple  tree 
sooner  b>'  throwing  rocks  at  him,  than  by  throwing  grass  at 
him,  and  that’s  one  of  the  rea.sons  why  I am  writing  this 
story  where  I am.  It  was  there  that  I saw  the  first  .steel  pens. 
The  handles  were  gorgeously  colored,  and  I thought  they  were 
very  beautiful.  Until  that  time  the  “goose  quill,”  which  was 
always  a “gander  quill,”  had  been  the  only  pen,  and  for  a 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


33 


long  time  after  it  wa.s  evident  that  the  steel  pens  were  better 
than  the  quills,  there  was  a journalistic  superstition  that  any 
successful  editorial  must  be  written  with  a “gray  goose  quill.” 
One  of  mj"  earliest  discoveries  in  etymology  after  I began 
Latin,  was  that  the  English  pen  was  derived  from  the  Latin 
“penna,”  which  means  a feather. 

My  favorite  game  was  “Antny-over,”  the  first  word  of 
the  name,  as  I always  supposed,  being  short  for  Anthony.  It 
seems  strange  to  me  that  school  boys  do  not  play  that  exciting 
and  thrilling  game,  instead  of  the  degenerate  base  ball  and 
foot  ball  of  this  day.  We  had  a “big  spelling  class,”  the  last 
thing  each  evening,  an  occasion  intrinsically  exciting,  apart 
from  the  fact  that  school  was  “out”  as  soon  as  it  wa.s  over. 
To  stand  “head”  in  this  class  was  the  great  honor  of  the 
.school.  Ed.  Grimes  was  what  Dickens  would  call  a “carroty- 
pated’  ’ boy.  He  was  small  for  his  years,  and  for  his  ears, 
and  he  was  poor  and  badly  dres.sed,  and  he  stammered  and 
was  dull.  I always  had  such  sympathy  for  poor  Ed.,  that 
one  day  at  “big  play-time,”  which  was  for  an  hour,  at  noon, 
I induced  Ed.  to  run  off  with  me  and  get  a good  dinner  at  my 
home,  a mile  and  a half  away.  We  got  back  late,  but  I was 
not  scolded  at  either  end  of  the  road,  for,  I think,  all  parties 
understood  my  motive. 

Bob  Flournoy  was  almost  a grown  young  man,  who  rode 
to  the  school  house  on  a horse,  and  was  handsomely  dressed, 
and  was  the  .son  of  a rich  farmer.  Nearly  every  evening  there 
was  a stay  of  proceedings  in  the  “big  spelling  class,”  until  it 
could  be  decided  whether  Ed.  or  Bob  was  “foot,”  each  claim- 
ing that  the  other  was — Ed.,  in  the  hardest  and  deepest  ear- 
nest, and  Bob,  though  apparently  just  as  earnest  as  Ed.,  evi- 
dently doing  it  just  to  worry  Ed.,  and  to  get  him  to  stammer- 
ing. Poor  Ed.  never  seemed  to  understand  Bob’s  game.  The 
only  aspiration  of  either  of  them  was  not  to  be  “foot,”  and  it 
finally  got  to  be  a standing  joke  to  appeal  to  the  cla,ss  to  de- 
cide which  of  the  two  was  “foot,”  the  teacher  declining  to 
umpire  the  case. 

I was  told  when  I was  at  Bethany  College,  that  I was  the 
only  boy  who  had  made  old  “Bishop”  Alexander  Campbell 


34 


BEHIND  THE  BARS:  31498. 


laugh,  I did  it  by  telling  him  about  Ed.  Grime.s  and  Bob 
Flournoy,  in  spelling  class,  and  about  two  incidents  in  the  life 
of  Bob  Flournoy  that  occurred  at  the  supper  table,  at  my  old 
home.  Bob  helped  himself  to  such  a large  quantity  of  some 
kind  of  preserves  that  he,  supposing  nobody  had  noticed  the 
amount,  tried  to  eat  a large  piece  of  it  at  one  mouthful  with- 
out anyone  noticing  him.  It  proved  to  be  a piece  of  race  gin- 
ger, and  the  longer  he  chewed  it  the  larger  and  hotter  it  got, 
and  Bob,  in  using  his  napkin,  managed  to  get  the  ginger  into 
the  napkin,  and  then  into  his  breeches  pocket.  Another  time, 
at  our  table.  Bob  got  fearfully  choked,  and  managed  to  say, 
by  the  hardest,  “I  have  swallowed  a crumb.”  Just  then  he 
gave  an  immense  cough,  and  nearly  the  half  of  a “beat”  bis- 
cuit flew  half  across  the  table.  I told  that  story  to  old  Mr. 
Campbell  at  his  breakfast  table,  and  he  laughed  so,  that,  by 
strange  coincidence,  he  got  so  choked  that  his  daughter  Vir- 
ginia (afterwards  Mrs.  Thompson,  post-mistress  of  Louisville, 
first  under  Garfield,  and  th,en  under  a Democratic  adminis- 
tration) had  to  beat  her  father  in  the  back.  Another  strange 
coincidence  is  that  from  the  time  I last  saw  Bob  as  a school 
boy,  I have  only  seen  him  once,  and  that  was  at  the  house  of 
Mrs.  Virginia  Thompson  in  Louisville.  I think  that,  in  some 
way,  they  became  acquainted  by  the  ginger  and  bi.scuit  stories 
I told  her  father. 

My  next  teacher  was  named  Taylor,  at  that  same  school 
hou.se.  I have  no  idea  where  he  lived.  There  is  only  one 
thing  in  connection  with  him  that  I can  recall  that  has  made 
any  impress  on  me.  A leather-bound  copy  of  Josephus,  with 
Taylor’s  name  in  it,  got  into  my  father’s  library,  and  de- 
scended to  me,  and  is  in  my  possession  yet,  and  will  be  de- 
livered to  Taylor,  if  he  or  his  heirs,  or  assigns,  anywhere, 
claim  it,  though  it  is  possible  that  Taylor  sold  it  to  my  father. 
In  that  book  I first  saw  that  passage  famous  in  theological 
disputation,  beginning,  ‘‘About  that  time  there  was  a man,  if 
it  be  lawful  to  call  him  a man- .” 

My  next  teacher  was  Samuel  Balaam  Barton.  He  taught 
at  ‘‘Fort  Hill  Academy,”  a new  school  house  built  closer  to 
my  home,  and  so  named  from  the  fact  that  it  was  in  the  mid- 


BEHIND  THE  BARS : 31498. 


35 


die  of  a pre-historic  fortification  a mile  in  circumference,  in 
the  circular  ditch  of  which  we  used  to  hide,  in  various  games. 
The  teacher  was  a nice  and  good  and  competent  man,  who  was 
doing  what  was  common  then — teaching  school  to  enable  him 
to  prepare  himself  for  the  Rresbyterian  ministry  I was  the 
only  pupil  in  the  school  that  was  not  a Presbyterian.  Half 
in  joke,  and  sometimes  half  in  meanness,  some  boys  would 
call  me  a “Campbellite.”  It  was  my  first  experience  as  a re- 
ligious martyr,  and  gave  me  just  as  much  trouble  as  my  pres- 
ent experience  in  the  same  line  does.  At  that  school,  as  m)^ 
school-mates,  were  the  boys  that  afterward  became  Congress- 
man Billy  Breckinridge,  and  Judges  Simrall  and  Robert  J. 
Breckinridge,  and  Simrall,  the  present  Mayor  of  Lexington, 
and  General  John  B.  Castleman,  and  Mary  and  Fannie  Cas- 
tleman,  who  afterward  became  the  wives  of  prominent  Judges, 
Samuel  Breckinridge  and  Eastin. 

There  was  an  orphan  boy  at  that  school  named  Samuel 
Sloan.  He  was  related  to  the  Presidents  Harrison.  Sam  was 
poor.  He  was  a great  oddity,  and  afforded  me  great  amuse- 
ment, He  had  a very  remarkable  way  of  licking  out  his 
tongue  when  he  was  writing,  and  the  only  clean  part  of  his 
face  was  that  which  he  reached  with  his  tongue  while  writing. 
At  that  school  Sam  and  I came  to  the  front  as  the  literary 
prodigies  of  the  school.  It  was  always  expected  every  Fri- 
day evening  that  the  whole  school,  including  the  teacher, 
would  laugh  when  Sam  and  I read  our  “compositions.”  I 
had  a large  repertoire  of  subjects,  but  Sam  had  only  two  sub- 
jects. One  was  “The  Crow,”  and  the  other  was  “The  Hog,” 
— pronounced  “Horg.  •”  On  these  two  subjects  he  wrote  a 
series  of  articles  that  lasted  through  a session  or  two.  Sam 
had  the  advantage  of  me  in  the  delivery  of  his  composition. 
He  licked  his  tongue  in  reading  it  just  as  he  did  in  writing  it. 
He  always  brought  down  the  house.  After  our  school  at 
Fort  Hill  my  father  sent  to  East  Pembroke,  New  York, 
and  employed,  to  teach  my  three  sisters  and  myself,  a lady 
about  twenty-one  years  old,  named  Arlotta  Maria  Bass.  It 
was  from  this  lady,  more  than  from  any  other  being,  my 
mother  scarcely  accepted,  that  I got  the  impressions  that  made 


36 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


me  what  I am.  I was  about  fifteen,  was  large  for  ni}"  age,  and 
was  no  slouch  in  personal  appearance.  My  sister  Mary  was 
thirteen,  and  my  other  two  sisters  still  younger.  Miss  Bass 
was  not  a real  beaut}',  but  she  was  far  from  being  homely, 
with  an  exceedingly  bright,  amiable  and  attractive  face, 
and  a fine  and  graceful  form.  All  of  my  memories  of  the 
stories  of  the  “Eneid”  are  from  sitting  beside  Miss  Bass  and 
reading  it  to  her  in  Eatin.  That  was  in  1853.  She  was  a de- 
vout Congregationalist,  of  Puritan  stock  I think,  but  without 
any  excess  of  Puritanism.  To  come  from  New  York  to  Ken- 
tucky then  was  very  much  more  of  an  undertaking  than  it  is 
now,  and  to  entertain  herself  on  the  road,  she  brought  with 
her  the  first  copy  of  “Uncle  Tom’s  Cabin’’  that  any  of  us 
had  ever  seem.  It  was  only  recently  out,  and  was  just  begin- 
ning its  wonderful  work  on  this  country  and  on  the  world.  It 
was  translated  into  seven  languages.  It  had  more  political 
influence  than  any  book  ever  written,  “Don  Quixote’’  not 
excepted.  We  all  read  it  aloud.  Miss  Bass  was  quite  mod- 
erate in  her  opposition  to  slavery  when  she  first  came  to  our 
house,  and  her  opposition  grew  less  as  she  saw  slavery  in  my 
father’s  family  and  at  my  Uncle  John’s. 

That  book  came  to  me  just  at  my  most  impressible  age, 
and  it  is  one  of  the  causes  to  which  I can  directly  trace  my 
being  in  the  penitentiary  now.  I had  been  born  and  reared  in 
the  midst  of  slavery,  and  it  had  never  occurred  to  me  that 
there  was  any  more  wrong  in  my  father  owning  a black  man 
than  there  was  in  his  owning  a horse.  I had  never  hated  any- 
body in  my  life,  except  a few  people  who  treated  their  slaves 
badly.  The  greatest  pleasure  of  my  young  boj'hood  days 
had  been  to  get  into  the  very  large  kitchen,  with  a curiou.sly 
constructed,  immense  fire- place,  and  culinary  apparatus  that 
would  make  a museum  now,  and  into  the  Negro  cabins  at 
night,  and  especially  by  their  big  wood-fires  in  the  winter 
time,  and  hear  them  talk  and  laugh.  I now  believe  that  my 
father’s  Negroes,  men,  women  and  children,  were  in  those 
days  the  happiest  people  I have  ever  seen.  Some  of  them 
still  live  on  my  farm  in  Kentucky,  and  .send,  in  my  wife’s  let- 
ters, messages  of  heart-broken  sympathy  to  “Mars  Charlie.’’ 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


87 


When  I presented  myself  for  ordination  to  the  ministry 
at  Bethany  College,  Virginia,  the  civil  war  was  almost  on  us, 
and  slavery  was  being  discussed  everywhere.  I said  to  the 
clergymen  who  ordained  me,  including  the  Rev.  Alexander 
Campbell,  “I  will  never  teach  the  doctrine  of  slavery,  as  our 
Southern  preachers  do.  ’ ’ The  only  answer  made  me  was  by 
one  of  them  picking  up  a Bible  and  reading  to  me  the  first 
five  verses  of  the  6th  chapter  of  rst  Timothy.  I saw  plainly 
that  it  sustained  the  Southern  view  of  slavery,  even  in  the 
English  translation,  and  knew  that  it  was  still  stronger  for 
slavery  in  the  Greek  original.  I was  ordained  to  the  ministry, 
but  when  Rev.  Dr.  J.  D.  Pickett,  now  of  Chicago,  read  me 
those  five  verses  from  the  New  Testament,  he  planted  the 
first  seeds  of  Infidelity  in  my  brain  and  heart — first  an  intel- 
lectual conviction,  and  next  as  a moral  repugnance. 

My  parents  were  not  very  hearty  as  defenders  of  slavery, 
and  my  grand-father  Stone  had  freed  his.  My  father’s  only 
apology  for  slavery  was  that  the  Negroes  would  be  worse  off 
as  freemen  than  as  slaves.  He  died  only  a few  months  before 
the  election  of  Abraham  Lincoln.  He  said  if  a Republican 
were  elected  there  would  be  war.  He  owned  some  young  Ne- 
gro boys,  among  which  was  a bright  little  fellow  named  Jerr}'. 
Each  of  us  claimed  some  special  little  darkey,  and  Mi.ss  Bass 
claimed  Jerry.  She  trained  him  so  that  when  she  would  ask, 
“Jerr}",  who  do  you  belong  to?”  he  would  say,  ‘‘Miss  Ba.ss;” 
and  when  she  would  laugh  at  it  he  would  laugh,  too,  like  he 
had  e.xecuted  an  excellent  piece  of  humor.  Then  some  of  us 
would  ask  him,  ‘‘Jerry,  who  belongs  to  you?”  and  he  would 
sa3%  ‘‘Miss  Bass,”  and  would  again  laugh  with  us.  Jerry  and 
his  two  brothers  all  went  into  the  Federal  army.  The  other 
two  were  killed,  and  Jerr}'  is  living,  a well-to-do  man,  in  Cov- 
ington, Ky.  At  interv'als  he  has  visited  Lexington,  and 
comes  out,  neatL’  dressed,  in  a nice  carriage,  to  .see  ‘‘Mars 
Charlie.’  ’ 

In  order  to  make  the  .school  more  interesting,  and  possi- 
bly .somewhat  for  the  profit  of  it,  mj’  parents  took  into  the 
school  as  boarders,  from  Monday  to  Friday'  evening,  four  ex- 
ceedingly sweet  and  pretty  girls,  thirteen  and  fourteen  years 


3$ 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


old.  Two  of  these,  Sallie  Smith  and  Bettie  Herndon,  neither 
of  whom  I had  seen  before,  made  impressions  on  my  heart 
almost  as  soon  as  I .saw  them.  They  were  .so  equally  attrac- 
tive that  I never  could  have  decided  between  them  had  it  not 
been  that  Sallie’ s family  were  Presbyterians  and  Bettie’ s fam- 
ily were  “Campbellites,”  and  my  memory  of  my  religious 
martyrdom  at  Fort  Hill  Academy  turned  me  in  favor  of  Bet- 
tie. Bettie  had  a beautiful,  clear  complexion,  with  very  dark 
hair  that  hung  just  to  her  shoulders,  and  then  curled  just  a 
little.  Her  eyes  were  large  and  a beautiful  deep  blue.  She  had 
an  entrancing  little  blush,  and  a dimple  in  her  cheek  that  was 
simply  irresistible.  My  “beauty  spot,’’  as  the  girls  all  called 
it — all  but  Bettie — was  a dimple  in  my  cheek;  there  to  this 
day,  but  has  been  hidden  ever  since  I was  nineteen  years  old 
by  a beard  that  was  never  shaven — not  even  here  in  the  peni- 
tentiar}",  as  is  the  common  rule.  Our  dimples  showed  best 
when  we  laughed,  and  it  was  a common  .scheme  with  the 
other  girls  and  Miss  Bass  to  say  something  funny  for  the  ex- 
pres.sed  and  alleged  purpo.se  of  making  us  show  our  dimples. 
Really,  I was  proud  of  my  dimple,  but  I always  felt  like  a 
half  idiot  when  thus  forced  to  make  an  exhibition  of  myself. 
Bettie  could  manage  it  better  than  I could,  and  alwavs  looked 
as  if  we  were  both  being  persecuted,  and  would  sympathize 
with  me,  and  called  me  “Charlie’’  with  a music  iu  the  name 
that  I had  never  noticed  before  Her  manner  was  perfectly 
natural,  and  there  was,  about  her,  just  such  a born  grace  that 
an  apron  string  .seemed  to  hang  from  her  waist  as  I had  never 
.seen  it  do  from  any^  other  girl’ s,  and  the  bow-knots  in  her  .shoe- 
strings and  the  fit  of  her  .stockings  on  her  ankles  .seemed  to 
have  .some  peculiar  magic  about  them. 

So  long  as  I felt  no  disposition  to  di.scriminate  between 
Sallie  and  Bettie,  I felt  no  uneasiness;  but  as  .soon  as  I 
made  up  m\'  mind  to  have  a preference  for  Bettie  I began  to 
realize  that  I was  haA’ing  a sweetheart,  and  was  afraid  that 
her  parents  and  mine  would  find  it  out,  and  that,  on  that  ac- 
count, they  would  either  take  her  away  from  our  school  or 
send  me  off  to  some  boys’  school,  because  I had  gotten  too  big 
to  send  to  .school  with  girls,  especially  when  there  was  a 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  ; 31498. 


89 


young  lady  teacher  who  did  not  seem  inclined  to  discourage 
any  preference  of  the  kind  that  I might  want  to  show.  I 
would  take  everj"  precaution  to  act  toward  Bettie  just  as  I 
would  toward  any  of  the  other  girls,  including  my  sister,  but, 
in  spite  of  all  I could  do,  I would  have  a feeling  that  I acted 
differently  from  what  I did  toward  the  others,  and  I could  not 
disabuse  my  mind  of  the  impression  that  others  saw  in  my 
feelings  toward  Bettie  the  thing  that  I was  trying  to  keep 
secret,  and  that  they  amused  themselves  by  it,  when  they 
were  together  and  away  from  me  and  Bettie.  After  awhile 
it  seemed  to  me  that  they  looked  at  Bettie  and  me  the  same 
way,  smiled  at  both  of  us,  and  said  nothing  the  same  way, 
and  I had  a suspicion  that  Bettie  was  feeling  about  it  just  as 
I did,  but  that  she,  being  a girl,  knew  how  to  hide  what  she 
thought  better  than  I did. 

If,  in  school  or  out,  it  came  perfectly  natural  for  me  to 
sit  right  close  beside  Bettie,  I noticed  that  there  was  a great 
difference  between  my  sitting  by  her  and  by  anybody  else,  and 
if  her  apron  just  happened  to  fall  over  on  my  knee  there 
seemed  to  be  a great  difference  between  it  and  any  other  dry 
goods  that  had  ever  gotten  on  my  knee;  but  I was  careful 
never  to  sit  by  her  unless  everybody  could  see  that  it  came 
perfectly  natural  forme  to  do  so;  and  yet  I was,  all  the  time, 
under  some  unpleasant  kind  of  an  impre.ssion  that  I was  acting 
so  that  others  would  .see  ni}^  preference  for  Bettie,  and  that 
then  she  would  feel  it  her  duty  to  be  shy  of  me,  so  that  great 
trouble  would  grow  out  of  it. 

We  had  some  beautiful  studies  in  the  natural  .sciences, 
such  as  botany  and  geolog}^,  that  took  us  wandering  through 
the  woods  and  b}-  the  creek,  in  the  day  time,  and  astronomy 
that  took  us  out  at  night,  especially  in  the  winter  nights, 
with  our  big  celestial  atlases  and  a lantern  when  we  wanted  to 
refer  to  them,  now  and  then.  While  the  others  were  looking 
at  the  stars,  and  Bettie  would  be  a little  ways  off  from  them, 
I would  manage  to  find  it  very  necessary  to  look  over  the  par- 
ticular big  atlas  that  she  was  holding,  and,  in  the  dark,  when 
substance  and  shadow  blended  so  as  to  show  little  difference 
between  them,  I would  accidentally  get  my  cheek  up  very  close 


40 


BEHIND  THE  BARS,  31498. 


beside  hers,  and  finally  when  this  accident  had  occurred  sev- 
eral times,  and  she  did  not  get  her  cheek  out  of  the  way,  as  I 
was  afraid  she  would  do,  I became  such  a diligent  student  of 
a.stronomy  that  the  stars  looked  wonderfully  familiar  to  me, 
until  the  last  time  I saw  them  before  coming  in  here.  I was 
ready,  at  any  time,  to  settle  any  possible  doubt  that  we  might 
have  about  the  name  and  history  of  any  star  we  saw  in  the 
heavens  by  referring  to  its  counterpart  in  Bettie’s  atlas,  and  I 
was  delighted  that  she  seemed  to  understand  that  she  was  to 
hold  the  atlas  for  me,  becau.se  I thought  she  could  do  it  better 
than  ariybod}’  else. 

Frequently,  when  Friday  evening  came,  Mi.ss  Bass,  Si.ster 
Mary,  Bettie,  Sallie  and  I would,  each  on  a horse,  ride  five 
miles  to  Sadie’s  hou.se,  spend  the  night  there,  and  the  next 
day  all  of  us  go  on  to  Bettie’s  and  .stay  there  until  Monday 
morning  and  then  back  home  to  school  again.  We  all  took 
le.ssons  from  Miss  Bass  on  the  piano,  and  all  studied  together 
at  night.  1 studied  physiology  with  those  girls  and  learned 
laws  of  liealth  that  now,  when  I am  past  three-.score  years, 
enable  me  to  stand  imprisonment.  In  tltis  wa}’  the  years 
rolled  around  and  the  time  came  for  Mi.ss  Ba.ss  to  go  home. 
In  tlio.se  days,  in  going  from  Lexington  to  New  York,  we  had 
to  go’ by  Louisville,  and  my  father  and  I went  v\itli  Mi.ss  Bass 
as  far  as  Louisville,  he  and  I going  on  to  St.  Louis  and  fur- 
ther up  the  Mississippi.  We  .separated  for  the  la.st  time  that 
1 have'«ver  .seen  her,  and  my  father  kis.sed  the  prett}-  .school 
teacher  good-liye — I can  tell  it  now,  for  he  and  my  mother  are 
both  dead,  and  don’t  know  where  their  boy  is,  and  when,  late*", 
Mi.ss  Ba.ss  told  me  good-bye,  she  put  her  arms  around  me, 
ki.ssed  me,  and  said,  “Remember  Bettie;’’  and  that  told  the 
whole  .story  of  what  I had  suspected  all  the  time. 

For  a long  time,  long  loving  letters  passed  often  between 
Miss  Ba.ss  and  all  of  us.  Finally,  the  war  came,  and  Sister 
Mary’s  and  Bettie’s  hu.sbands  were  in  the  Confederate  army, 
and  Sallie  was  dead,  and  a letter  came  from  Miss  Bass  speak- 
ing bitterly  of  the  South.  That  letter  was  never  answered, 
and  from  that  day  to  this  I have  never  heard  anything  from, 
or  in  an}-  way  about.  Miss  Bass.  She  had  married  Dr.  Ellin- 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


41 


wood,  of  New  York,  to  whom  she  was  engaged  while  she  was 
at  our  house. 

One  night  during  the  war  there  was  a wedding  at  the 
house  of  my  widowed  cousin,  Mrs.  Sarah  B.  Moore,  one  of 
the  truest  of  all  the  friends  I ever  had.  My  Sister  Mary  went 
to  the  wedding,  and  put  on  her  white  silk  wedding  dress  for 
the  first  time  she  had  ever  worn  it  since  her  husband  had 
gone  into  the  arm}'.  By  some  inexplicable  means  while  at  the 
wedding  a bright  spot  of  blood  was  seen  on  the  bo.som  of  the 
dress.  I saw  it  and  heard  several  who  were  evidently  talking 
so  as  to  keep  from  her  mind  any  idea  of  a bad  omen.  Soon 
after  her  husband  was  shot  in  the  breast  through  the  heart,  as 
he  was  charging  ou  a Federal  breast-works. 

“Whom  the  gods  love  die  young.” 

How  strange  is  life!  Lying  beside  me  on  my  prison  bed, 
are  letters  j ust  received  from  my  wife  and  men  and  women 
from  different  parts  of  the  United  States,  mostly  from  parties 
that  I have  never  seen.  They  are  all  full  of  love,  sympathy 
and  admiration.  I have  man}'  times  wondered  how  it  felt  to 
be  a penitentiary  convict.  Now  I know.  I would  rather 
have  a shackled  body  and  a free  mind  in  a penitentiary  than 
to  have  a free  body  and  a shackled  mind  outside  of  a peniten- 
tiary. You  can’t  imprison  a man  who.se  conscience  is  all  right. 

M}'  next  year  at  school  was  at  the  old  Transylvania  Uni- 
versity at  Lexington.  That  was  to  me  a most  unhappy  year, 
caused  by  the  fact  that  I could  not  learn  mathematics  ea.sily, 
and  had  as  a professor  in  that  department  one  of  these  mathe- 
matical fanatics  who  think  that  the  ability  to  learn  mathemat- 
ics is  the  only  standard  of  intellectuality,  and  who  have  no 
sympathy  for  any  boy  who  can  not  easily  learn  mathematics, 
and  is  devoted  to  it.  His  influence  on  me  was  very  bad,  be- 
cause he  so  discouraged  me  that  I hardly  had  the  heart  to 
learn  anything.  I am  sorry  that  I did  not  abandon  mathe- 
matics when  I only  knew  elementary  arithmetic  and  some 
of  the  rudiments  of  geometry.  Mathematics  is  the  only  one 
of  all  the  sciences  of  which  a man  may  know  absolutely  noth- 
ing and  yet  be  a valuable,  accomplished  and  educated  gentle- 


42 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


man.  It  is  indispensable  that  somebod}'^  should  know  mathe- 
matics, but  there  are  alwa}'s  more  people  who  can  learn  it  with 
ease  and  pleasure  than  there  is  any  demand  for  in  the  practical 
application  of  mathematics,  and  these  people  should  learn  it, 
and  people  who  cannot  learn  it  easily  should  never  waste  their 
time  upon  it.  Nothing  can  be  well  learned,  the  learning  of 
which  is  not  a plea.sure  to  the  learner,  and  that  is  especially 
true  in  mathematics.  The  greatest  of  all  the  mistakes  in  all 
of  our  public  schools  is  the  grading  of  every  student  by  his 
advancement  in  mathematics.  I have  known  smart  men  who 
could  not  learn  mathematics,  and  smart  men  who  could  learn 
it  and  very  inferior  men  who  could  learn  it.  The  time,  labor 
and  money  put  upon  the  study  of  mathematics  by  anyone  who 
does  not  learn  it  easily  and  pleasurably  would  be  worth  more 
to  him  on  any  science  other  than  mathematics. 

In  1856  I went  to  Bethany  College,  Virginia — now  West 
Virginia.  It  was  in  a wild,  romantic,  mountainous  country. 
At  that  college  occurred  things  that  did  much  to  make  me 
what  I am.  My  father  furnished  me  as  much  money  as  I 
wanted,  and  I dressed  hand.somely.  While  I .spent  money 
freely  I really  never  wasted  it,  and  though  I had  all  of  the 
real  pleasures  of  college  life,  I always  drew  the  line  at  the 
immoral  and  never  did  there,  or  anywhere  else,  anything  of 
which  I was  unwilling  to  tell  my  parents  or  would  now  be 
unwilling  to  tell  to  1113^  wife  and  children.  I spent  two  years 
there  and  graduated  with  about  an  average  standing.  For 
.some  time  after  I went  to  Bethan}'  College  Bettie  and  I cor- 
responded, but  there  was  never  a word  of  love  with  any  view 
to  matrimony  pas.sed  between  us,  and  to  this  day  I have  no 
knowledge  as  to  whether  she  would  have  married  me  if  I had 
a.sked  her.  She  sent  me  a beautiful  valentine  and,  in  New 
York  Cit>',  where  she  was  when  the  Atlantic  cable  was  a new 
thing,  she  bought  me  a pretty  gold-bound  section  of  it  for  a 
watch  charm.  The  fir.st  intimate  friend  I made  among  young 
ladies,  at  Bethany,  was  Miss  Ellen  Campbell. 

( I am  going  to  stop  here  long  enough  to  give  you  another 
letter  from  my  dear,  loved  and  loving,  precious  wife.  It  is  as 
follows: 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


43 


Russell’s  Cave,  Ky.,  February  12,  1899. 

My  Dear  Daddy  : 

I am  feeling  better  since  I received  your  cheerful  letter  last 
night.  I am  so  glad  that  you  have  found  such  a kind  man  at  the 
helm.  Give  my  kindest  regards  and  thanks  to  Mr.  Coffin,  and  tell 
him  that  I appreciate  his  kindness  and  consideration  more  than  I 
can  tell.  Tell  him  that  he  has  not  a criminal  in  you  to  deal  with,  but 
a man  whose  life  has  been  as  pure  as  that  of  the  purest  woman  who 
ever  breathed — a man  wffiose  name  is  a synonym  for  honesty  ; a man 
who  was  "never  caught  in  a lie,”  as  President  McGarvey  stated  from 
his  pulpit ; a man  who  has  spent  his  life  fighting  for  morals;  a man 
whose  only  crime  is  that  he  will  tell  too  much  truth,  and  is  an  honest 
Infidel ; a man  who  never  advocated  “free  love”  in  his  paper,  but  only 
answered  an  argument  on  the  subject  in  a rather  facetious  way. 

This  is  the  kind  of  a man  he  has  for  a prisoner.  I am  afraid  now 
that  you  tare  so  well  that  you  will  not  want  to  come  home  if  we  get 
you  pardoned.  I want  you  to  read  the  Warden  what  I have  written, 
or  let  him  read  it  for  himself.  I have  had  kind  messages  and  love 
from  some  of  the  very  nicest  gentlemen  in  Lexington,  including  Dr. 
Coleman  and  Editor  Polk,  and  a letter  from  Mr.  Kaufman,  that  I will 
enclose  to  you,  and  a kind  note  from  Major  Daingerfield  saying  he 
would  do  all  he  could  for  you. 

My  neighbors  have  come  and  expressed  sympatliy  and  indigna- 
tion. Dr.  Henry  Atkins  came  as  soon  as  he  heard  of  it,  and  seemed 
simply  outraged  and  sent  you  his  love.  He  could  scarcely  refrain 
from  using  “cuss  words”  about  Rucker.  Even  Billy  Breckinridge 
wrote  an  editorial  expressing  regret  and  defending  you,  and  Leland 
went  and  thanked  him. 

Misses  Elizabeth  an  1 .luliet  came  to  see  me,  and  were  deeply 
grieved,  and  said  their  mother  was  sick  over  it.  and  sent  you  dear 
love  from  all  the  family. 

Miss  Anna  Gray  said  they  loved  you  like  a brother.  They  tell  me 
the  whole  of  Lexington  is  outraged  over  the  matter,  and  T hear  noth- 
ing but  contempt  for  Rucker.  I really  feel  sorry  for  the  creature. 
I had  a letter  from  Annie  Grissim  expressing  greatest  sorrow. 

Be  good,  be  prudent,  be  cheerful,  be  brave,  and  take  care  of  your 
health.  I would  so  like  to  have  a number  of  the  little  papers  of  the 
date  you  sent  me.  I want  to  distribute  them.  I am  grateful  to  see 
what  a good  place  a prison  can  be  made,  with  a good  man  at  the  head 
of  it — a humane  man.  Can’t  you  send  me  the  paper  whenever  it  is 
issued?  How  often  is  that?  How  often  will  they  let  you  write  to 
me,  and  will  they  let  you  write  for  your  paper?  This  is  the  third  let- 
ter I have  written  to-night—  I am  so  tired. 

Good-night,  dear  Daddy.  Brent  joins  me  in  love. 

Your  Loving  Wife. 

P,  S. — Monday  Morning. — It  is  terribly  cold  this  morning.  The 


44 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


thermometer  stood  at  15°  below  zero,  at  seven  o’clock,  and  must  have 
been  at  20°  in  the  niglit.  How  do  you  sleep?  Have  you  comfortable 
quarters?  You  said  you  were  among  the  common  convicts  the  first 
night.  I had  a letter  from  Sister  Mary  Friday  night,  asking  about 
you  and  when  you  would  go  to  Louisville.  Guess  she  had  not  heard 
about  it.  It  seems  to  me  the  newspapers  gave  a hateful  account 
of  it.  It  seemed  to  me  they  were  afraid  to  say  a kind  word  for  you. 
Do  you  have  a task  imposed  upon  you,  or  does  the  Warden  take  it  for 
granted  you  will  do  the  best  you  can? 

Don’t  fail  to  send  me  some  of  the  little  papers  of  the  date  you 
sent ; there  was  such  an  interesting  account  of  prison  life  in  it.  There 
must  be  great  suffering  among  the  poor.  I had  to  give  Aunt  Rachel 
provisions. 

(“Aunt  Rachel”  is  an  old  Negro  family  servant  who  used  to  be- 
long to  my  father. — Author.) 

Is  there  anything  you  want  me  to  send  you?  I will  send  you  the 
flannel  that  matches  what  you  have  on,  The  wrong  that  has  been 
done  you  grows  bigger  and  bigger  in  my  eyes.  Everybody  seems  to 
be  outraged.  I hear  the  Chamber  of  Commerce,  in  Lexington,  dis- 
cussed the  subject.  Good-bye,  again,  with  love. 

^ 

Inclo.sed  in  her  letter  is  the  following: 

Lexingtox,  Ky.  February  10,  1899. 

Mrs.  C.  C.  Moor?:, 

Russell’s  Cave,  Ky. 

My  Dear  Mrs.  Moore: — I can’t  tell  you  how  deeply  I sympathize 
with  you  in  the  new  trouble  that  has  come  upon  you.  It  was  very 
wrong  that  Mr.  Moore  did  not  employ  attorneys  to  represent  him. 
I feel,  as  yet,  so  stunned  that  I really  don’t  know  what  is  best,  or 
what  ought  to  be  done.  I have  written  to  the  “American  Secular 
Union  and  Federation”  in  Chicago,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  the  best 
plan  to  pursue  is  to  ajiply  to  the  President  for  a pardon.  I have  some 
influential  friends  in  Washington,  who,  I am  sure,  will  aid  us. 

Since  writing  the  above  I have  s)ioken  to  Leland,  and  he  will  ex- 
plain what  ray  views  are.  In  the  meantime  believe  me  that  you  and 
Mr.  Moore  have  the  heart-felt  sympathy  of  every  decent  man  and 
woman  in  the  country,  and  that  nothing  will  be  left  undone  to  right 
the  great  wrong  that  has  been  perpetrated. 

Your  friend,  AI.  Kauf.max. 

^1;  >i< 

Here  is  another  that  was  in  the  same  envelope: 

“Castleton,”  February  10,  1899. 

AIrs.  C.  C.  AIoore. 

My  Dear  Friexd  : — You  can’t  know  how  much  I have  wanted  to 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  ; 31498. 


45 


go  to  you  in  the  last  few  sorrowful  days.  Only  the  weather  kept  me  at 
home  ; for  it  seems  almost  dangerous  to  venture  out.  Our  hearts  have 
been  with  you  all,  our  dear,  sorrowful  friends.  Is  there  anything  we 
can  do  to  help  you?  There  is  one  thing  we  know,  and  that  we  have 
done,  and  we  trust  that  He,  wlio,  in  answer  to  prayer,  brought  your 
dear  boy  safely  home  (from  tlie  army  in  Porto  Rico. — Author.)  will 
watch  over  your  husband,  and,  in  His  own  time,  restore  him  to  you. 

Mr.  Moore  has  always  been  such  a kind  neighbor — so  hospitable 
and  kindly — that  he  is  our  brotlier,  and  you  know  that  “if  one  mem- 
ber suffers  all  the  members  suffer  with  it,”  and  so  we  so  truly  enter 
into  his  sorrows  and  yours  that  you  must  let  us  express  our  sympathy. 

Dear  friend,  in  this  dark  hour,  trust  your  Savior’s  love  and  power 
and  believe  that  He  will  turn  even  this  anguish  into  blessing,  and  give 
you  consolation^  and  in  His  good  time,  joy  also — “joy  that  no  man 
taketh  from  us.”  Make  Leland  and  Brent  come  over  when  they  can. 
When  I can  I want,  and  hope,  to  go  to  see  you.  Nettie  is  sick  in  bed, 
and  makes  herself  worse  grieving  over  you.  With  love  from  us  all. 

Your  loving  friend,  Annie  D.  Gray. 

P.  S. — I want  to  write  down,  for  you,  words  that  have  often  com- 
forted me,  as,  no  doubt,  they  have  you  ; but  it  is  good  to  hold  them 
close  and  plead  them 

“Call  on  me  in  the  day  of  trouble.  I will  deliver  thee,  and  thou 
shalt  glorify  me. 

“In  all  their  afflictions  he  was  afflicted,  and  the  angel  of  his  pres- 
ence saved  them.” 

“Jesus  Christ,  the  same  yesterday,  to-day  and  forever.” 

“Leave  God  to  order  all  thy  ways. 

And  Hope  in  Him,  whate’er  betide, 

ThouPt  find  Him,  in  the  evil  days. 

An  all-sufficient  Strength  and  Guide. 

Who  trusts  in  God’s  unchanging  love. 

Builds  on  the  Rock  that  none  can  move.” 

“Trust  his  rich  promises  of  grace. 

So  it  shall  be  fulfilled  in  thee, 

God,  never  yet,  forsook  in  need 
The  soul  that  trusted  Him,  indeed,” 

^ >i< 

At  the  same  time  that  I received  these  the  Warden  sent 
me  two  beautiful  letters  that  had  been  written  him,  in  my  be- 
half, by  Miss  Annie  Gray  and  her  brother-in-law,  Major  Dain- 
gerfield.  I will  give  you  one  more  sample  of  the  letters  that 
I get  at  the  rate  of  four  or  five  a day.  There  are  some  pris- 


46 


BEHIND  THE  BARS : 31498. 


oners  here  who  are  never  allowed  to  write.  The  average  pris- 
oner can  write  twice  a month.  I can  write,  ever}'  da}',  as 
many  letters  as  I want  to  write. 

Nicholasvili.e,  Ky.,  Febmary  11,  1899. 

De-\r  Brother  Moore.  - 

Hold  up  your  head,  1 am  proud  of  you.  For  every  stripe  of  dis- 
grace you  bear,  time  will  make  a badge  of  honor,  and  for  every  hair 
of  your  bushy  old  head  an  Infidel  league  will  spring,  The  only  dan- 
ger about  such  convictions  as  yours  is  that  being  sent  to  the  peniten- 
tiary may  become  eminently  respectable.  We  do  not  attach  any 
shame  or  disgrace  to  any  Russian  Nihilist  sent  to  the  hell  of  Siberia, 
where  hundreds  of  as  great  patriots  as  ever  fought  for  liberty  or 
light,  suffer  your  penalty  for  the  same  cause  of  truth  and  humanity. 

The  Roman  Catholics  would  send  every  A.  P.  A.  where  you  are, 
if  they  had  the  power,  and  the  A.  P.  A’s.  would  treat  the  Catholics 
the  same  way,  if  they  had  the  power.  I wonder  that  you  were  not 
crucified  or  burned  at  the  stake,  because  you  were  innocent,  before  a 
prejudiced  jury,  who  thought  they  were  doing  their  duty.  I thought 
you  would  make  a fight,  and  that,  if  you  were  found  guilty,  you 
would  appeal  the  case.  The  Liberals,  all  over  the  world,  would  have 
fouglit  for  you  to  the  Supreme  Court ; but  you  took  the  shortest  way 
out  of  it.  Perhaps,  in  the  end,  you  have  done  the  best  to  teach  the 
bigoted  and  superstitious  a lesson  that  your  new  experience  will  fit 
you.  for  A"our  friends  know  that  you  are  the  friend  of  man,  and  of 
all  that  is  true,  beautiful  and  good.  Jails,[mobs,  prisons  and  martyr- 
dom cannot  detract  from  what  you  are. 

A^our  words  may  have  been  wild  and  whirling  at  times  to  the 
uninitiated,  but  you  will  be  judged  by  your  acts  and  deeds,  and  they 
give  the  lie  direct  to  the  charge  under  which  you  suffer.  Men  are 
responsible  for  their  acts,  not  their  words,  in  any  court  of  last  resort. 
That  was  the  doctrine  of  Napoleon. 

I never  knew  that  your  paper  was  a “free-love”  paper,  until  1 
read  it  in  the  chaste  Cincinnati  papers.  I presume  you  are  now  ac- 
customed to  your  new  environment,  the  product  of  Christianity  and 
private  ownership  of  the  earth  and  the  fullness  thereof,  and  now  you 
may  look  deeper  into  the  social  problems  that  breed  the  classes  you 
are  with,  but  not  of.  But,  under  far  different  circumstances,  may 
not  the  best  be  made  thieves  and  paupers  under  our  growing  monopo- 
lies? Crime  is  a disease  caused  by  insanity  and  poverty  and  our 
blind  laws  and  customs. 

We  are  far  from  being  civilized.  The  problem  is  yet  to  be  solved. 
I see  a dim  torch  when  a man  like  Thomas  L.  Johnson,  of  Cleveland, 
Ohio,  proposes  to  devote  his  life  and  fortune  to  teaching  what  he  be- 
lieves will  help  to  think  out  the  mad  and  savage  scramble  for  exist- 


BEHIND  THE  BAES : 31498. 


47 


ence.  He  is  a true  convert  to  the  theory  of  Henry  George  and  the 
single  tax.  The  chief  draw-back  to  this  doctrine  is  established  in 
beliefs  and  customs.  George  failed  first  to  clear  the  world  of  supersti- 
tion— of  impossible  gods,  and  unthinkable  heavens,  to  correct  the 
mistakes  and  the  crimes  of  the  few  in  authority.  The  Kings,  priests, 
monks  and  preachers  are  responsible  for  slaves,  chains,  suffering  and 
crimes.  The  world  is  divided  into  two  classes — big  and  little  thieves  ; 
and  the  first  big  thief  was  not  “the  Lord,”  but  the  landlord,  and  the 
first  to  receive  the  stolen  property  were  the  King  and  the- priest. 

The  solution  of  Henry  George  may  be  a fallacy,  and,  if  so,  you 
may  think  out  a true  way,  as  you  have  now  seen  the  world  from  every 
point  of  view.  If  you  think  it  out  the  world  will  look  upon  that  jury 
as  the  Christians  look  upon  .Tudas — necessary  to  the  salvation  of  the 
world  and  the  works  of  evil. 

I believe  you  will  make  a model  ward,  and  tliat  you  will  be  good. 
Learn  to  set  type,  and  keep  from  thinking  about  yourself  and  trouble. 

“Tempus  fugit.”  Tolstoi  made  shoes  in  prison.  Prince  Krapot- 
kin  is  greater  than  the  prison  cell.  There  was  Mazarin.  Carl  Schurtz 
flew  here,  to  get  away  from  the  penitentiary,  with  hundreds  of  his 
comrades.  The  crime  for  which  you  suffer  will  put  a halo  about  your 
memory.  A^ou  are  young  and  physically  perfect,  and  your  mind  may 
not  be  impaired  by  your  boarding-house.  There  is  great  work  for 
you  to  do.  If  this  mad  world  is  to  continue,  as  it  is  reflected  by  the 
public  prints,  then  it  would  be  better  were  the  liuman  family  abol- 
ished. It  would  be  better  to  give  all  the  people  on  this  planet  a 
dreamless  sleep. 

The  Hebrew  conception  of  God  once  killed  all  but  eight  persons, 
and  made  the  mistake  of  saving  the  ark  to  freight  all  the  errors 
that  are  now  our  legacy. 

But.  I believe  there  is  a good  time  coming.  For  two  years,  or 
less,  you  will  not  be  kept  guessing  how  to  get  a living  without  beg- 
ging, or  stealing,  or  sand-bagging  somebody. 

Youi’s  fraternally,  Louis  Pilcher. 

>}C 

Miss  Ellen  Campbell  was  a second  cousin  of  “Bishop”  Al- 
exander Campbell,  She  was  about  twenty  years  old  and  I 
eighteen.  Her  widowed  mother  was  poor  and  lived  in  a rose- 
embowered  cottage  named  “Rosedale.”  Six  or  eight  students 
boarded  there.  The  bell  would  ring  and  we  would  walk  into 
the  dining  room,  and  always  find  a delightful  meal,  but  no- 
body else  would  be  in  there  while  we  were  in  there.  Miss 
Ellen,  while  not  a real  beauty,  was  pretty  and  exceedingly 


48 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


s veet  in  disposition  and  in  manners,  and  had  a voice  that  was 
strikingly  sweet  in  talking  and  in  singing.  She  had  a sister, 
Jennie,  and  a brother,  Tom,  who  was  an  editor,  and  when  she 
told  me  about  his  being  an  editor  I remember  that  I thought 
it  must  require  a man  of  wondrous  genius  to  be  an  editor. 
How  my  ideas,  on  that  subject,  have  changed!  She  also  had 
a brother  named  Archibald,  who  was  a clown  in  a circiis,  and 
I afterward  .saw  him  and  talked  to  him,  in  Lexington,  when 
he  was  in  his  clown’s  dre.ss  and  make-up,  in  his  circus.  I 
soon  saw  that  the  clown  is  not  such  a funny  man,  except  in 
his  .special  role.  He  .seemed  to  me  to  be  a sad  man,  and  in 
thinking  of  him  I have  often  thought  that  there  was  more  of 
earnestne.ss  than  is  commonly  suppo.sed  in  what  “Mr.  Merry- 
man”  says  when  he  walks  into  the  ring,  and  sitting  on  the 
tub  on  which  the  elephant  stands  on  his  head,  says  with  ennui, 
“Go  on  with  the  .show;  I’ve  seen  it  all.” 

Miss  Ellen  used  to  .sing  many  .sweet  songs  for  me  with 
accompaniments  on  a guitar.  One  beautiful  summer  evening 
we  started  out  for  a walk.  We  went  down  the  road  to  a 
pretty  creek  and  then  walked  down  the  banks  of  the  creek  for 
a mile  or  more.  The  mountains,  streams,  trees  and  wild 
flowers  all  combined  to  make  a beautiful  scene.  We  strayed 
on,  talking — she  singing  sometimes — until  we  got  away  out 
into  the  mountains,  out  of  sight  of  any  evidence  of  human  exist- 
tence,  except  ourselves  and  our  belongings.  We  came  to  a beau- 
tiful little,  shallow  stream  about  ten  feet  wide,  running  down 
through  the  mountain,  through  the  rocks,  and  stepping  from 
one  to  the  other  of  these,  we  began  the  ascent  of  this  stream. 
We  had  started  out  rather  late  in  the  evening  and  the  weather 
was  so  delightful  and  our  way  so  shaded  that  neither  of  us 
had  anything  on  our  heads.  She  was  dressed  in  some  white 
gauzy  material,  and  had  on  the  hoops  and  large  skirts  that 
were  then  in  style.  Of  course,  if  she  had  tried  at  all  hard, 
she  might  have  stepped  from  one  to  the  other  of  these  stones 
without  my  assistance,  but  we  both  pretended  that  she  could 
walk  so  much  better,  and  even  that  I could,  if  I balanced  us 
both  by  taking  hold  of  her  pretty  white  hand.  Squeezing 
her  hand  did  not  have  to  be  done  furtively  at  all;  it  had  to  be 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


49 


done  frequentl}^  and  midisguisedljq  in  helping  her.  Sometimes 
when  we  would  come  to  the  moss-covered  trunk  of  a tree  l>nng 
across  the  stream,  I would  have  to  get  upon  it  first,  and  then 
take  her  by  both  hands,  and  pull  her  up.  When  we  got  tired 
we  would  find  a nice  place  to  sit  down,  and  we  would  tell  each 
other  the  story  of  “Paul  and  Virginia,”  and  out  of  her  almost 
endless  repertoire  of  songs  she  could  alwa5^s  find  one  that 
.seemed  to  suit  the  surrounding  almo.st  as  if  we  were  on  a 
stage  and  the  .songs  had  been  made  to  suit  the  time  and  scene 
then  and  there. 

We  kept  climbing  up  until  we  could  hear  a little  water- 
fall up  the  mountain.  We  climbed  up  to  it,  and  found  the 
fall  with  a pretty  cave  behind  it  as  large  as  a family  room. 
We  staj^ed  there  until  it  began  to  look  like  night  was  coming 
on,  and  we  spoke  of  going  back  home,  but,  just  then,  a large 
black  cloud  rolled  over  the  mountain,  and  it  looked  as  if  it 
was  going  to  rain  hard.  It  got  so  dark  that  we  saw  it  would 
be  dangerous  to  walk  in  the  mountains,  and  we  were  under  a 
perfect  natural  roof.  The  cloud  rolled  away  without  any  rain, 
but  there  was  no  moon  and  it  was  dark  enough  to  be  danger- 
ous walking  then,  and  we  determined  to  wait  until  the  moon 
would  rise,  which  would  be  about  midnight.  Sitting  on  the 
stone  floor  of  the  cave  was  not  as  comfortable  as  w'e  wanted  it, 
and  we  got  out  of  the  cave  and  went  a little  distance  in  search 
of  a resting  place,  and  waded  in  a bank  of  leaves  that  was 
knee  deep.  Miss  Ellen  sat  dowm  in  them,  and  I laid  close  be- 
side her,  with  my  head  resting  upon  my  hand,  supporting  my- 
self upon  my  elbow,  and  stayed  in  that  position,  perhaps,  an 
hour.  She  sang  a great  many  songs,  and  I sang  a second  to 
some  that  we  sang  together.  She  repeated  a great  deal  of 
beautiful  poetry,  and  told  many  pretty  stories  from  books  and 
from  real  life.  Once,  while  she  was  singing  a pretty  lullaby 
kind  of  a song,  feeling  tired  of  my  position,  I turned  myself 
.so  as  to  lay  my  head  upon  her  knee,  and  when  she  saw  me 
starting  to  do  this  she  put  out  her  arms  and,  as  my  head  came 
down,  put  her  arms  around  my  neck,  and  supporting  her  lower 
arm  upon  her  knee,  hugged  me  up  close  enough  for  my  face  to 
feel  the  soft  folds  in  the  bosom  of  her  dress.  She  never  stop- 


50 


BEHIND  THE  BARS : 31498. 


ped  a note  in  her  music,  singing  softly  and  low,  with  her  face 
turned  up  to  the  stars,  as  I could  see  it  through  the  thin  goods 
of  her  dress,  and  apparently  unconscious  that  I had  changed 
m}'  position.  She  sang  me  all  sorts  of  soothing,  lullaby  songs, 
until  really,  though  I know  you  hardly  believe  me,  I was 
nearly,  but  I think  not  quite,  asleep. 

Finally,  when  the  moon  rose  brightly,  in  front  of  us,  I 
got  up  and  raised  her  up,  and  we  went  back  home,  talking 
and  singing  as  we  had  come.  As  we  walked  along  that 
stream,  nearlj^  midnight,  we  came  by  a spot  in  the  creek  that 
was  hidden  in  the  deep  shadows  of  the  great  overhanging 
elms,  the  exceedingly  dramatic  history  of  which  we  both 
knew  and  talked  of  as  we  came  by  it,  and  stopped  for  a few 
minutes  to  hear  the  gentle  murmur  of  the  stream,  as  it  was 
in  summer. 

I will  tell  you  the  story  as  Miss  Virginia,  daughter 
of  Alexander  Campbell,  told  it  to  me.  When  Miss  Vir- 
ginia was  a little  girl,  Jefferson  Davis  (who  was  afterward 
President  of  the  Southern  Confederacy,)  brought  to  the  col- 
lege a nephew  of  his  named  Stamps.  One  winter  this  young 
man  was  skating  on  the  ice,  right  w^here  the  soft  summer 
water  was  now  murmuring.  Young  Stamps  was  telling  little 
Virginia,  who  was  present,  about  some  Indians  who  captured 
a young  white  man  about  the  same  time  they  had  captured 
the  first  skates  they  had  ever  seen.  The  Indians  had  seen 
white  persons  skate,  but  did  not  themselves  know  how  to  use 
the  skates.  They  put  them  on  only  to  get  some  hard  falls,  to 
the  amusement  of  the  other  Indians.  Finally,  the  Indians 
signalled  to  their  white  captive  to  put  the  skates  on  his  feet 
and  show  them  how  to  use  them.  The  young  captive  was 
really  a fine  skater,  but  he  pretended  not  to  know  how  to 
skate.  He  put  on  the  skates  and  purposely,  fell  several  times, 
so  as  to  deceive  the  Indians,  and  much  to  their  amusement. 

When,  in  this  way,  the  young  captive  got  a little  distance 
from  the  Indians,  he  struck  out  in  the  most  rapid  skating,  and 
so  out-traveled  the  Indians  that  he  was  soon  out  of  .sight  of 
them  down  the  river.  Stamps,  in  showing  little  Virginia 
how  the  young  captive  had  acted,  fell  down  several  times. 


BEHIND  THE  BARS:  31498. 


51 


purposely,  and,  £nall3",  Stamps’  head  hit  on  a stick  that  was 
lying,  on  the  ice,  and  it  killed  him  immediately.  Stamps’ 
friends  were  notified  at  once,  and  a grave  was  dug  in  the 
church  yard,  about  two  hundred  yards  from  where  Stamps  was 
killed,  with  the  intention  of  burying  him  until  his  friends 
should  come  for  him.  Just  when  they  had  gotten  to  the  side 
of  the  grave  with  the  coffin,  news  came  from  Stamps’  friends, 
directing  that  he  should  not  be  buried,  and  the  coffin  was  set 
on  the  ground,  right  there;  and  now  the  strange  part  of  it 
that  I can  hardly  make  appear  reasonable  to  you,  is  that  the 
coffin  sat  there  until  some  students  took  it  to  Stamps’  home, 
as  they  went  home  from  college,  after  the  next  commence- 
ment, which  was  on  the  4th  of  July,  and  that  grave  remained 
open,  just  as  it  was  when  ready  to  bury  the  young  man,  until 
I went  there  to  college.  I have  seen  the  grave,  over  the 
fence,  at  a distance  of  fifty  yards,  a hundred  times,  but  never 
went  to  look  into  it. 

A book  of  college  poems  written  by  a student  there  named 
named  Baxter,  has  one  called  “Stamps’  Funeral.’’  I made 
repeated  efforts  to  find  how  it  was  that  that  coffin  had  been 
allowed  to  stay  there  so  long,  and  why  it  was  that  the  grave 
had  never  been  filled  up,  but  never  could  find  any  explanation. 
Mr.  Campbell  was  quite  superstitious.  Mrs.  Campbell  in  tell- 
ing me  once  about  the  “banshee,’’  a kind  of  ghost  that  fore- 
warned of  death,  as  Mr.  Campbell’s  old  countrymen  believed, 
told  me,  I think,  with  a smile,  that  Mr.  Campbell  still  had 
some  superstition  about  it,  and  I have  sometimes  thought  the 
coffin  and  grave  incident  that  I have  given,  had  some  kind  of 
superstition  in  it.  The  last  time  I saw  Mr.  Campbell  was 
after  I had  graduated,  and  had  gone  back  to  Bethany  to  study 
for  the  ministry,  and  had  preached  and  became  an  Infidel  and 
left  the  pulpit,  and  had  gone  to  Europe  and  came  back  by 
Bethany  as  I returned. 

Mr.  Campbell  and  I were  sitting  together  and  talking  on 
the  lower  of  the  two  front  porches  of  his  house.  He  was 
talking  just  as  intelligently  as  I had  ever  heard  him  do,  when 
he  began  to  tell  me  a story  that  greatly  surprised  me.  He 
told  me  that  once  he  was  traveling  in  Syria,  and  that  one  of 


52 


BEHIND  THE  BARS : 31498. 


their  party  died,  and  they  dug  a grave  on  the  roadside  and 
were  just  about  to  bury  him,  when  they  saw  some  Bedouin 
Arabs  coming  and  Mr.  Campbell  and  his  friends  fled,  leaving 
the  coflin  sitting  on  the  side  of  the  grave.  It  suggested  to  my 
mind  the  story  of  Stamps’  coffin  and  grave.  I expres.sed  to 
Mr.  Campbell  great  surpri.se  at  his  story,  telling  him  that  I 
was  astonished  that  I had  never  before  heard  that  he  had  been 
in  Syria;  but  he  assured  me  that  he  had  been,  and  gave  me 
some  further  particulars  about  the  grave  and  the  Bedouins. 
A little  after  that  I told  Mrs.  Campbell  about  it,  and  she 
smiled  and  said  her  husband’s  memory  was  becoming  im- 
paired, and  that  he  had  heard  that  read  in  a letter  from  his 
daughter  and  thought  it  was  his  own  experience. 

But  nearly  a year  from  the  time  that  Miss  Ellen  and  I 
looked  at  that  water,  that  night,  another  tragedy,  somewhat 
similar  was  to  occur  at  the  same  place.  A young  man  named 
Doniphan,  son  of  Col.  Doniphan,  author  of  “Doniphan’s  Ex- 
pedition,” that  I had  read,  some  years  before,  was  at  college 
at  Bethany.  He  took  his  meals  at  “Rosedale.”  He  was  gen- 
tlemanly, dignified  and  morose.  He  showed  me  a handsome 
pistol  one  day  that  he  said  his  father  had  given  him,  saying, 
“Shoot  the  first  damned  rascal  who  insults  you.”  Doniphan 
had,  without  justification,  become  very  angry  at  me,  and  when 
he  found  out  that  he  was  wrong  in  having  done  so,  was  ap- 
parently making  all  the  apology  he  could  make  without  any 
direct  allusion  to  what  had  occurred,  and  he  was  doing  more 
little,  apparently  accidental,  courtesies  for  me  than  I had  .seen 
him  do  for  anyone  else.  I understood  his  purpo.se  and  most 
cordially  acquiesced  in  his  mode  of  apology,  as  1 construed  it, 
and  liked  it  more  than  I would  have  done  the  ordinary  form 
of  apology.  I was  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  be  a friend  to  a 
boy  who  seemed  to  be  sad. 

One  morning,  in  the  spring,  when  the  weather  was  bright 
and  delightful,  but  when  the  water  of  a mountain  stream  was 
still  cold,  Doniphan  and  I and  one  or  two  other  boys  had  ar- 
ranged to  go  swimming  in  the  stream,  that  I am  telling  you 
about,  which  was  then  deep  and  rapid.  We  were  to  go  in  the 
evening,  but  I found  it  would  interfere  with  a class,  and. 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


53 


when  he  came  for  me  to  go  with  him,  I could  not  go  and  told 
him  so,  saying  how  much  I regreted  it.  He  seemed  disap- 
pointed, and  started  away,  saying  but  little.  He  had  gone 
only  about  twenty  yards  when  he  turned  and  came  back  to 
me,  and,  with  a serious  looking  air,  said,  “Well,  I will  tell 
you  good-bye,’ ’ and  I advanced  to  meet  him  and  we  shook 
hands.  I realized  that  it  was  an  unsual  procedure,  but  I 
thought  it  was  only  his  peculiar  way,  and  we  separated,  both 
looking  serious,  and  I think  both  feeling  so.  He  and  Cap- 
tain James  R.  Rogers,  now  of  Paris,  Ky._,  went  on  to  the 
stream  and  began  disrobing  to  go  into  the  water.  Dohiphan 
undressed  on  the  top  of  a large  sand- stone  block,  such  as  are 
to  be  seen  commonly  on  that  stream,  which  in  some  unknown 
time  have  broken  loose  and  come  down  from  the  mountains. 
Doniphan  was  first  undressed  and  stood  nude,  and  repeated 
the  words  from  Shakespeare  beginning: 

“Barest  thou,  Cassius,  jump  in  and  swim  with  me  to 
yonder  point?’’  and  ending,  “Help  me,  Ca.ssius,  or  I sink!’’ 

As  soon  as  Doniphan  had  finished  those  words  he  jumped 
into  the  deep,  cold  water,  and  swam  for  the  middle  of  the 
stream  where  the  current  was  very  swift.  As  soon  as  he 
reached  the  swift  current  Doniphin  a.ssumed  an  upright  posi- 
tion, his  head  and  shoulders  being  above  the  water.  He  looked 
at  Rogers  perfectly  calmly  and  said,  with  evident  earnestness, 
“If  you  can  help  me,  now  is  the  time  to  do  it,’’  and  these 
were  the  last  words  that  any  one  is  known  ever  to  have  heard 
him  utter.  Rogers  jumped  into  the  water  and  swam  for  Doni- 
phan, but  before  Rogers  could  get  over  the  comparatively  still 
water,  to  the  rapid  current,  Doniphan  was  so  far  ahead,  and 
Rogers  so  nearly  cramped  by  the  cold  water,  that  he  .swam  to 
shore,  and  cutting  his  bare  feet  on  the  rocks  ran  down  the 
shore  until  he  got  opposite  to  Doniphan,  and  having  the  same 
experience  as  he  did  the  first  time,  repeated  this  once  or  twice 
more,  when  Rogers  became  so  exhausted  that  he  could  neither 
run  nor  swim,  and  he  had  to  abandon  any  further  effort  to 
save  his  companion.  When  he  last  saw  Doniphan  he  was  just 
turning  a bend  of  the  stream  nearly  a half  mile  away,  and  was 
still  erect,  with  his  head  and  shoulders  above  the  water. 


54  BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 

In  less  than  five  minutes  Rogeis  had  on  his  shoes  and 
some  of  his  clothing,  and  was  running  through  the  village  ex- 
claiming, “Doniphan  is  drowning.’’  I heard  it  almost  imme- 
diately, and,  catching  the  situation  accurately,  because  I knew 
their  plans,  I ran  to  the  nearest  point  of  the  creek  that  circled 
around  and  came  nearly  back  to  the  town,  about  a mile  below 
where  Doniphan  was  last  seen.  There  was  nothing  there  that 
I could  throw  in  to  help  him  or  me,  and  I stood  ready  to  jump 
into  the  water  and  swim  for  Doniphan,  so  as  to  meet  him  at 
the  right  time,  as  I expected  him  every  second  to  come  around 
the  curve  of  the  stream  into  view.  It  was  one  of  the  most 
trying  experiences  of  my  life.  If  I had  not  had  time  to  think 
it  would  not  have  been  so  hard  on  me;  but  the  danger  that  I 
saw  confronting  me  was  such  that  I dared  not  to  think,  and  I 
determined  to  swim  with  my  clothes  on,  believing  that  they 
would  lessen  my  danger  of  cramp.  I was  destined,  however, 
not  to  drown  there,  but  to  have  again  almost  exactly  that  same 
experience  thousands  of  miles  away,  in  a strange  country. 

As  I watched  for  Doniphan,  not  being  able  to  go  to  meet 
him  because  of  the  rough  bank,  seconds  seemed  like  minutes 
and  minutes  seemed  like  hours.  Night  was  coming  on  rap- 
idly, and  in  less  than  five  minutes  after  I stood  on  that  bank 
a very  black  cloud  rolled  over  the  sky  above  me,  and  it  grew 
so  dark  that  I could  not,  with  my  excellent  eyes,  have  seen  a 
floating  man  in  the  middle  of  the  stream.  I never  witnessed 
such  a scene  as  it  was  when,  in  a minute,  the  news  ran  over 
the  village  that  Doniphan  was  drowning.  Women  ran  into 
the  street  and  called  for  all  who  could  to  go  to  the  as.sistance 
of  Doniphan,  and  in  their  helplessness,  wrung  their  hands  in 
agony.  The  inten.se  darkness  shut  off  all  effort  to  do  any- 
thing, and  when  it  was  generally  agreed  that  Doniphan  must 
have  drowned,  I went  with  some  friends  into  a student’s  room 
and  we  sat  by  the  fire,  and  talked  about  the  case. 

Somebody  suggested,  after  a time,  that  Doniphan  was  a 
peculiar  fellow,  and  that  nobody  in  the  world  would  actually 
drown  so  deliberately  as  he  appeared  to  be  doing  when  last 
seen;  that  he  was  a fine  swimmer,  and  had  floated  away  with 
his  head  and  shoulders  out,  by  doing  what  is  known  among 


BEHIND  THE  BARS:  31498. 


65 


swimmers  as  “treading  water;’’  that  his  quotation  from 
Shakespeare  was  only  a part  of  his  dramatic  scheme,  and  I 
remembered  his  strange  parting  from  me,  and  for  some  hours 
that  we  sat  there,  while  the  night  was  perfectly  black  outside, 
and  the  lightnings  crashed  and  the  thunder  roared  through 
the  mountains,  there  was  an  impression  among  us  that  Doni- 
phan would  come  walking  naked  into  that  very  room  where 
we  were,  quoting  something,  perhaps  from  Kdgar  A.  Poe, 
then  a popular  author  among  the  college  boys,  and  probably 
something  from  his  “Raven,’’  about  coming  in  “from  night’s 
Plutonian  shore,’’  and  so  daze  us  with  the  apparation  that  at 
that  place,  that  was  full  of  mountain  superstitions,  we  would 
not  know  whether  we  saw  a ghost  or  a real  man. 

'We  talked  low  and  sadly.  The  lightning  and  thunder 
were  so  appalling  that  we  got  to  talking  about  lightning,  and 
I told  a story  about  lightning.  One  of  the  young  men  who 
listened  to  me  was  named  John  Johnson  Rogers,  and  was  from 
Paris,  Ky.  I said  about  as  follows: 

When  I was  a boy  about  ten  years  old,  my  father  came 
home  one  night  from  Rexington  and  told  a very  remarkable 
instance  of  a phenomenon  in  lightning  in  which  a little  boy 
was  struck  by  lightning.  I do  not  know  where  the  boy  lived, 
or  remember  what  his  name  was.  The  boy  was  up  in  a barn, 
and,  the  door  of  the  barn  being  open,  the  boy  put  out  his 
hand  and  took  hold  of  an  iron  hook  to  fasten  it  so  as  to  keep 
out  the  rain  that  was  just  beginning  to  fall.  Ju,st  as  the  boy 
put  his  hand  on  the  hook  there  came  a flash  of  lightning,  and 

Just  at  that  point  in  my  story,  J.  Johnson  Rogers  said: 

“I  was  the  boy;’’  and  he  took  up  the  story  and  went  on  with 
it  and  finished  it  exactly  like  I remembered  my  father  had 
told  it  to  us,  and  just  as  I was  going  to  tell  it.  Rogers 
said  just  as  he  caught  hold  of  the  iron  hook  there  came  a 
flash  of  lightning  that  struck  a mulbeny  tree  a considerable 
distance  from  the  barn.  At  the  same  instant  Rogers  was 
greatly  shocked.  His  brother  William,  who  was  with  him, 
was  so  much  frightened  that,  not  being  hurt,  he  lau  to  the 
house  and  left  Johnson  in  the  barn.  One  of  John.son’s  legs 
was,  for  the  time,  so  paralyzed  that  he  had  great  difficulty  in 


56 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


getting  down  the  ladder  that  went  down  into  the  lower  room 
of  the  barn,  and  when  he  got  to  the  hou.se  he  found  that  mul- 
berry leaves  had  been  photographed  all  over  his  body.  The 
photographed  leaves  on  his  body  looked  as  if  they  had  been 
made  by  pressing  the  mulberry  leaves  .so  hard  against  his 
flesh  that  they  had  bruised  the  flesh  until  it  was  blue,  making 
pictures  of  the  leaves.  These  pictures  remained  on  his  body 
for  several  days,  disappearing  by  degrees. 

The  story,  in  itself  wonderful,  was  made  much  more  won- 
derful by  the  fact  that  under  those  peculiar  circumstances  I 
came  to  find  out  who  the  boy  was  who  had  such  a strange  ex- 
perience. John  Johnson  Rogers  is  dead,  but  James  R.  Rogers, 
of  Paris,  Ky. , is  living,  and  some  newspaper  man  might  get 
from  him  the  material  for  a story,  out  of  what  I have  here  told. 

For  several  days  after  Doniphan  was  drowned  the  whole 
college  was  engaged  in  searching  for  his  body  and  gave  up  all 
hope  of  finding  it.  Just  thirty  days  from  the  time  he  was 
drowned  somebody  saw  a naked  body  floating  out  of  that 
creek  into  the  Ohio  river,  seventeen  miles  from  where  Doni- 
phan was  drowned,"  and  the  body,  though  much  dilapidated, 
was  identified  as  being  that  of  Doniphan.  The  body  was 
brought  to  Bethany, and  I assisted  in  putting  it  in  a coffin. 
In  rai.sing  the  body  my  fingers  sank  into  the  rotten  flesh  of 
his  bod}",  while  his  eyes,  from  which  the  lids  had  rotted, 
stared  at  me. 

The  news  of  the  finding  of  the  body  was  telegraphed  to 
his  parents,  but  so  far  as  I know,  no  reply  was  ever  .sent  to 
Bethany.  We  suppo.sed  that  some  of  Doniphan’s  friends 
would  come  for  him,  as  soon  as  they  could  get  there,  and  so 
we  set  the  coffin  on  two  trestles,  under  the  floor  of  the  back 
part  of  the  church,  where  the  floor  was  about  four  feet  aljove 
the  ground,  there  being  a door,  without  any  shutter  to  it,  go- 
ing through  the  rear  part  of  the  foundation  of  tlie  church, 
which  was  the  only  one  iu  the  village.  That  coffin  sat  there 
exposed  so  that  anybody  could  see  it,  until  some  of  the  stu- 
dents took  it  home  as  they  went  after  commencement,  the 
commencement  being  on  the  4th  of  July,  nearly  three  months 
after  it  was  put  there. 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


57 


I had  read  the  strange  and  frightful  stories  of  Poe,  and 
had  from  these  gotten  a strange  infatuation  for  horrible  situa- 
tions, and  I would  frequently,  go  walking,  just  sauntering 
about,  bare-headed,  like  “Kit  North,’’  for  whom  I had  a 
fancy,  in  gloomy-looking  places.  One  of  my  common  walks 
in  the  day  time  was  by  that  church.  There  was  a carriage 
road  that  ran  about  fifty  yards  from  the  church,  which  was 
the  shorter  road  and  the  easier  and  plainer  one  in  the  night, 
and  every  way  the  better  one  when  the  hot  sun  was  not  .shin- 
ing, but  in  the  hot  days  in  taking  that  walk,  as  I frequently 
did,  to  Mr.  Campbell’s  hou.se,  and  sometimes  to  the  mountains 
in  that  direction,  I would  go  through  that  church  yard  near 
the  open  grave  of  Stamps  and  the  exposed  coffin  of  Doniphan 
sitting  there,  and  in  the  day-light,  thought  nothing  of  it. 
One  still,  dark  night,  in  the  latter  part  of  June,  when  the  vil- 
lage was  all  quiet,  I started  out  alone,  about  midnight,  to  take 
one  of  my  rambles,  and  I started  in  the  direction  of  the 
church.  I knew  I was  going  to  pass  that  church,  and  knew 
that,  at  night,  the  carriage  road  w'as  the  better  way,  but  I 
began  to  inquire  of  my  inner  self  if  I was  afraid  to  go  through 
that  church  yard,  as  I frequently  did  in  the  da}^  time. 

I thought  of  that  open  grave  and  the  ghastly  story  about 
it,  and  about  the  rotten  flesh  on  Doniphan’s  white  body  into 
which  my  fingers  had  sunk,  and  knew  he  was  Ijdng  there  now 
where  we  had  left  him,  and  knew  that  I was  going  right  b^^ 
the  spot  where  Stamps  killed  himself  and  where  Doniphan 
began  his  accidental  drowning,  or  suicide,  whatever  it  was, 
and  I felt  like  I was  ju.st  inviting  a horrible  experience  to  go 
through  that  church  yard,  and  then  I remembered  that  I was 
ju.st  walking  to  occupy  time  and  for  the  romance  of  it,  and  I 
began  to  say  to  my.self  that  if  I did  not  go  through  that 
church  yard  it  would  be  becau.se  I was  afraid  to  do  so,  and  I 
became  afraid  to  admit,  to  my.self,  that  I was  afraid,  and,  con- 
sequently, I was  afraid  not  to  go  through  the  church  yard. 
So,  with  some  difficult}^  in  the  dark,  I found  the  path  that 
led  through  the  church  yard  and  followed  it  toward  that  place. 
When  I got  up  to  the  gate  that  went  into  the  church  yard, 
and  that  was  about  half  way  between  the  coffin  and  the  open 


58 


BP:H1ND  the  BAES  ; 31498. 


grave,  I saw  that  the  gate  was  standing  open,  and  right  in  the 
middle  of  the  path  through  it  there  stood  something  white, 
the  legs  and  body  of  which  I could  see,  but  no  head.  I knew 
that  gate  fastened  by  a weight  on  a chain,  and  I had  never 
seen  it  standing  open  before.  I did  not  believe  I saw  a ghost, 
and  I was  satisfied  that  no  student  was  standing  there  to 
frighten  me,  because  nobody  knew  that  I was  likely  to  be 
there,  and  still  I was  certain  that  so  far  as  my  eyes  were  to  be 
depended  upon,  there  was  something  white,  that  seemed,  pos- 
sibly, to  move,  standing  in  that  gate.  I had  studied  Aber- 
crombie’s Mental  Philosophy  before  going  to  Bethany,  and 
had  studied  Upham’s  Mental  Philosophy  at  Bethany,  and  I 
was  familiar  with  the  phenomena  of  mental  hallucinations  and 
optical  illusions  and  delusions,  and  I was  familiar  with  a story 
that  was  said  once  to  have  been  told  there  bj^  Professor  Pen- 
dleton, now  living,  in  a mental  philosophy  lecture  to  the  class, 
about  his  having  plainly  seen,  under  an  hallucination,  as  he 
explained  it,  his  wife  sitting  upon  the  steps  of  their  house 
one  night  and  walking  into  the  house  with  him,  some  time 
after  .she  had  died,  and  though  I did  not  believe  that  I really 
saw  anything  that  was  supernatural,  I was  doing  what  was 
ahno.st  as  straining  on  my  nerves — ^ahnost  believing  that  I was 
under  one  of  these  hallucinations,  that,  it  occurred  to  me,  I 
had  brought  upon  myself  by  indulgence  in  reflection  upon 
Poe’s  stories,  as  I was  then  doing. 

Then  I heard  a low,  deep  groan  from  the  object  in  front 
of  me,  and  kicking  at  it  in  a kind  of  combination  of  fright 
and  courage,  found  it  a cow  .standing  facing  me  in  the  gate. 
Somebody  asked  Madame  de  Stael  if  she  believed  in  ghosts. 
She  said,  “No;  but  I am  afraid  of  them.’’  I have  never  been 
afraid  of  any  ghost,  but  sometimes,  under  ghostly  circum- 
stances, I have  been  afraid  that  I woitld  be  frightened,  and 
have,  more  often,  been  .still  more  afraid  that  I would  frighten 
some  one  else. 

I had  a passion  for  practical  jokes,  that  were  sometimes 
too  practical,  but  I always  drew  the  line  at  doing  anything 
that  I would  be  ashamed  to  tell  of  when  in  after  days  I came 
to  tell  college  stories.  I could  become  so  engaged  in  the  de- 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


59 


tails  of  an  arrangement  to  take  some  new  student  “sniping,” 
that  it  seemed  to  me  like  a regular  part  of  the  college  curricu- 
lum to  do  it.  I have  gone  with  the  boys  to  see  old  man  Curtis, 
the  only  restaurant-keeper  of  the  town,  to  arrange  with  him 
for  the  cooking  of  the  “snipes,”  and  the  old  man  had  heard 
that  same  old  joke  for  so  many  years  that  he  and  I and  the 
new  boy  would  arrange  for  the  “snipe  supper”  with  as  much 
earnestness  as  we  generally  did,  really,  when  the  “snipe  hunt” 
had  come  off  and  the  snipes  did  not  materialize.  From  this  old 
college  joke  comes  the  expression  about  “leaving  a man  with 
the  bag  to  hold.”  I have  seen  the  deluded  boy,  away  in  the 
night,  standing  straddle  of  a small  stream  with  a candle  on 
either  side  of  him,  patiently  holding  a bag  down  to  the  sur- 
face of  the  water  waiting  for  the  snipes  to  swim  into  it  as  the 
others  of  us  started  up  the  small  stream  to  drive  the  snipes 
down,  and  went  on,  across  the  mountains  to  the  college,  leav- 
ing the  new  boy  to  find  out  as  best  he  could  that  he  had  been 
playing  the  leading  role  in  a farce  that  had  long  been  played 
at  colleges. 

I have  eaten,  and  had  for  my  friends  chickens,  turke3's, 
honey,  and  even  milk,  in  luxurious  abundance,  and  into  the 
possession  of  which  I came  quite  clandestinely,  in  the  dark; 
my  scripture  warrant  being,  “Eat  what  is  set  before  you,  ask- 
ing no  questions  for  conscience  sake.”  I have  myself  been 
the  victim  of  a practical  joke,  and  have  seen  that  it  is  a verj^ 
easy  thing  to  deceive  a man  by  an  ingenious  combination 
against  him.  One . evening  Tom  Allen  came  into  my  room 
with  a distressed  expression  on  his  face,  and  said  the  faculty 
had  expelled  him  for  getting  drunk.  I told  him  that  I had 
often  warned  him  against  it,  and  that  I was  deeply  distressed 
about  it.  He  said  he  did  not  care  a damn  about  being  ex- 
pelled, except  that  he  knew  it  would  break  the  heart  of  Jen- 
nie Campbell,  to  whom  he  told  me,  in  great  confidence,  that 
he  was  engaged,  which  did  not  greatly  surprise  me.  He  said 
to  me  that  Jennie’s  sister  Ellen  and  I were  such  good  friends 
that  he  wanted  me  to  break  the  news  to  Jennie,  in  the  best 
way  I could  manage  it,  about  his  having  been  expelled.  I 
believed  the  news  would  soon  get  to  Jennie,  so  I sent  my  card, 


en  BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31408. 

( 

right  awa}^,  asking  to  be  allowed  to  coi;ae  to  see  her  that 
night.  It  was  in  June.  I got,  in  replj^  a cute  and  funny  lit- 
tle note,  based  on  the  supposition  that  both  of  us  recognized 
that  I was  her  si.ster  Ellen’s  beau,  and  saying  .she  would  be 
delighted  to  have  me  call.  I went  and  found  Miss  Ellen  with 
a beau  in  the  parlor,  and  Miss  Jennie  came  in  .soon  after  hear- 
ing that  I had  come.  She  was  very  bright  and  funny,  and  I 
felt  sad  that  I had  to  tell  her  something  that  would  make  her 
sad;  and,  in  anticipation,  I looked  .so  .sad,  myself,  that  Jennie 
suddenly  drew  her  face  into  a sympathetic  expression,  and 
asked  me  in  a low,  tender,  sweet  voice,  if  there  was  anything 
that  troubled  me,  and  begged  me  to  tell  her  all  about  it,  and 
said  she  wanted  to  sympathize  with  me  if  there  was  no  more 
that  she  could  do  to  help  me. 

I told  her  that  I was  sad  and  that  I wanted  to  tell  her 
about  it,  and  suggested  that  we  should  go  out  upon  the  porch 
to  do  .so.  The  porch  was  embowered  in  blooming  roses,  and 
the  moonlight  struggled  through  them.  I began  as  gently  as 
I could  to  tell  the  news  about  Tom  to  Jennie.  We  were  walk- 
ing in  the  porch  and  she  had  hold  of  my  arm.  When  .she  be- 
gan to  suspect  that  I was  going  to  say  something  distressing 
about  Tom  Allen,  I could  feel  that  she  would  shudder;  and 
when  I finally  told  her  that  Tom  had  been  expelled,  .she 
swooned  and  would  have  fallen  to  the  floor  had  I not  caught 
her  in  my  arms.  Miss  Ellen  could  hear  that  .something  was 
transpiring  out  on  the  porch  and  ran  out  to  see.  She  was 
greatly  alarmed  at  Jennie’s  condition,  and  asked  me  what  was 
the  cau.se  of  it.  I told  Miss  Ellen  that  her  sister  had  heard 
bad  news  and  asked  Mi.ss  Ellen  to  go  to  Mi.ss  Jennie’s  a.s.sist- 
ance  in  her  room.  When  I got  back  to  my  room  I found  Tom 
and  several  of  our  intimate  friends  there,  and  Tom  asked  me 
to  tell  all  about  the  meeting  between  Mi.ss  Jennie  and  myself, 
and  I did  so.  Then  .some  other  friends  came  in  and  listened, 
with  sad-looking  faces,  as  I told  the  .story  again.  The  next 
day,  and  still  the  next  day,  boys  came  to  my  room  and  got 
me  to  tell  about  it.  The  romance  of  the  story  seemed  to  fas- 
cinate them,  and  they  seemed  to  enjoy  my  style  in  reciting  it. 
In  about  a week  I found  that  Tom  had  not  been  expelled,  and 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


61 


that  he  and  Jennie  and  the  boys  had  arranged  to  deceive  me, 
keeping  Miss  Ellen  in  real  ignorance  in  order  the  more  effect- 
ually to  do  .so. 

One  summer  there  came  to  Bethany,  some  time  in  June, 
a young  lady,  to  stay  there  until  after  commencement.  It 
was  arranged  that  we  were  to  have  a fishing  party  of  young 
ladies  and  students  and  I had  made  a most  pleasant  engage- 
ment for  the  occasion.  On*  the  day  of  the  fi.shing  party  .some 
of  the  young  ladies,  including  the  oue  with  whom  I had  made 
the  engagement  for  the  day,  said  to  me  that  the  young  lady 
whom  I have  mentioned  was  very  diffident,  and  they  told  me 
that  none  of  the  other  young  men  would  agree  to  be  her  es- 
cort for  the  da}^  and  that  I must  break  my  engagement  and 
go  with  her  and  make  her  have  a nice  time.  While  I felt  bit- 
terly disappointed,  I recognized  that  selecting  me  as  her  escort 
was  a compliment  to  me.  I was  introduced  to  her  and  soon 
saw  that  she  appeared  to  be  a country  girl,  sensible  enough  in 
a very  matter  of  fact  way,  but  utterly  unacquainted  with  .so- 
ciety ways  and  society  talk.  We  walked  along  with  the  other 
company,  all  of  whom  were  having  funny  and  delightful 
times.  I tried  all  the  arts  of  conversation  that  I knew  any- 
thing about,  and  every  scheme  that  I had  every  heard  of,  to 
amuse  the  young  lady,  but  she  seemed  as  unappreciative  as  a 
Sphynx.  I found  a most  beautiful  spot  ou  the  banks  of  the 
stream,  and  putting  some  dried  red  herrings  on  our  hooks  I 
pitched  them  into  the  water,  and  after  awhile  fished  mine  out 
and  ate  it,  in  a frantic  endeavor  to  bring  a smile  of  interest  to 
her  face.  After  an  hour  or  more  I finally  despaired  of  enter- 
taining her,  and  made  some  very  natural  and  common  place 
remark,  and  she  made  some  remark  about  what  I had  said 
that  was  sensible  enough,  but  was  not  at  all  in  society  style. 
I was  careful  not  to  show  my  feeling  of  exultation  that  I had 
at  least  elicited  an  idea  from  her,  and  after  awhile  I said  some 
other  common  place  thing  and  she  seemed  again  to  be  inter- 
ested in  what  I had  suggested  and  replied  to  that,  and  I en- 
dorsed some  part  of  what  .she  had  said  and  objected  to  the 
other.  I found  that  .she  was  willing  to  talk  about  anything 
that  required  thinking.  By  degrees  we  got  into  a conversa- 


62 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


sation  that  grew  more  interesting  to  me  the  longer  she  talked, 
and  yet  there  was  not  a sentence  of  anything  amusing  or  any- 
thing else  other  than  the  common  place  dictates  of  sound  rea- 
son. I became  ver}'  much  interested  in  her  peculiar  style, 
and  when,  hours  afterward,  time  came  for  us  to  go  home,  I 
was  sorry  to  have  to  do  anything  that  would  stop  her  most 
interesting  talk,  that  was  distinguished  for  its  marvelous  ma- 
turity of  thought  from  one  .so  young. 

We  walked  along  home  to  where  she  was  visiting,  saying 
very  little  as  we  went,  and  to  others  appearing,  doubtless,  to 
have  had  a dull  time;  but  I had  enjoyed  it,  and,  in  her  pecul- 
iar way,  she  seemed  to  have  done  the  same.  That  was  Re- 
becca Harding,  who  married  Mr.  Davis,  and  became  promi- 
nent as  a magazine  writer,  and  is  the  mother  of  Richard 
Harding  Davis,  editor  of  Harper’s  Magazine,  and  otherwise 
prominent  in  American  literature. 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


63 


CHAPTER  III. 

I was  the  most  popular  boy  in  the  college.  My  friends 
were  all  classes  of  students,  the  President,  the  Professors  and 
their  families,  and  the  people  of  all  classes  in  the  village. 
One  of  most  intimate  friends  was  the  wife  of  Prof.  W.  K. 
Pendleton.  She  was  beautiful  and  had  many  charms  of  heart 
and  brain,  and  had  traveled  extensively  in  Europe  before  her 
marriage;  a thing  that  was  not  so  common  then  as  now.  One 
winter,  while  I was  at  college,  Mr.  Campbell  and  Prof.  Pen- 
dleton went  to  Kentuckj"  and  visited  my  home  there.  Prof. 
Pendleton  was  exceedingly  pleased  with  my  sister  Mary,  and 
wrote  his  wife  to  that  effect,  and  letters  from  my  home  to  me 
said  the  same.  I told  Mrs.  Pendleton  that  her  husband  had 
fallen  in  love  with  my  sister.  She  said,  “I  know  all  about  it; 
that’s  all  right;  you  and  I will  get  even  with  him;”  and  we 
‘‘got  even”  with  him.  It  was  magnificent  sleighing  that  win- 
ter. ‘‘Aunt  Kate,”  as  I called  Mrs.  Pendleton,  and  I had 
.some  splendid  sleigh  rides;  sometimes  in  large  parties,  and 
sometimes  only  two  of  us. 

Once  she  and  I sat  together  in  the  middle  of  a church 
where  a man  was  lecturing  to  a large  audience  on  Napoleon. 
I wore  a black  silk  velvet  cap.  I had  in  this  cap,  on  my  lap, 
beans  and  a stiff  piece  of  whalebone,  about  four  inches  long. 
I shot  beans  at  the  speaker.  The  beans  hit  in  the  globes  of 
the  chandeliers  on  the  pulpit,  and  so  pelted  the  speaker  that 
it  almost  broke  up  the  lecture.  Nobody  could  see  me  shoot 
them.  I was  called  before  the  faculty  on  suspicion  of  having 
shot  the  beans.  When  I came  before  the  facultj'  one  of  them 
apologized  to  me  for  having  suspected  me,  and  said  to  the 
balance  of  the  faculty  and  to  me  that  he  had  received  a note 
from  Mrs.  Pendleton  saying  that  she  sat  right  by  me  through 
the  whole  lecture  and  never  saw  me  shoot  a beau.  I never 
saw  one  myself.  I didn’t  have  to;  they  went  too  fast  for 
anybody  to  see,  but  they  got  there  just  the  same.  I was  ac- 
quitted on  ‘‘Aunt  Kate’s”  testimony. 

There  were  then  as  now,  three  classes  of  society  in  Vir- 
ginia. The  students  called  them  ‘‘Hoi  aristoi,”  ‘‘Hoi  bar- 


64 


BEHIND  THE  BAES,  31498. 


baroi,”  and  “Hoi  phizeroi.’’  One  niglit  there  was  a big  party 
at  “Aunt  Kate’s” — the  Profes.sor  still  in  Kentuck}".  It  was 
of  the  “aristoi,”  except  that  two  nice  young  girls  of  the 
“barbaroi”  were  present,  Oil  and  water  wont  mix.  Neither 
will  different  social  castes  in  Virginia.  The  house  had  a high 
ba.sement  story.  “Aunt  Kate,”  about  midnight,  whispered 
to  me  to  lock  all  the  doors  going  out  and  hide  the  keys,  and 
to  do  it  so  that  nobody  would  see  me.  I did  .so.  Later  on 
.some  guests  arranged  to  go,  and  the  doors  were  all  found 
locked.  The  two  “barbaroi”  girls  insi.sted  they  must  go 
home,  and  I helped  them  down  from  a window  about  ten  feet 
high.  The  balance  of  us  spent  the  whole  night  there,  and 
witnes.sed  a magnificent  sunrise,  over  the  mountains,  from  the 
top  of  a high  porch.  We  had  a magnificent  breakfast  on  the 
supper  table,  still  standing  where  we  left  it  with  abundance 
on  it  the  night  before,  with  a new  supply  of  hot  oy.sters,  hot 
rolls,  hot  coffee  and  chocolate. 

My  room-mate,  who  graduated  the  first  year  I was  at 
college,  was  George  Abbott  James,  theii  of  Zanesville,  Ohio. 
He  is  now  a lawyer  in  Boston,  is  very  rich,  and  his  wife  is  a 
si.ster  of  Senator  Lodge,  the  “force  bill”  man.  He  was  very 
elegant  in  his  manners  and  dress.  I had  gotten  the  worst 
room  in  the  dormitory,  and  George  had  the  best  one,  with 
everything  most  comfortably  fixed,  and  asked  me  to  room 
with  him.  When  we  .separated  at  college  we  both  cried  and 
he  kissed  me  on  the  cheek,  or  on  my  black  curly  beard.  We 
made  many  vows  of  eternal  devotion.  I have  never  .seen  him 
but  once  since. . It  was  ju.st  at  the  end  of  the  war  when  I 
had  quit  preaching,  and  he  found  me  at  work  on  the  farm.  I 
never  hear  of  him  now  except  when  he  orders  his  Blade 
changed  from  Boston  to  Nahant,  where  he  has  his  .sea-shore 
cottage  for  the  summer,  and  then  back  to  Boston  for  the  bal- 
ance of  the  year.  He  has  enjoyed  the  personal  acquaintance 
of  the  literati  of  Boston.  He  has  never  written  me  a line 
while  I am  in  the  penitentiary,  his  paper  being  paid  for  five 
years  in  advance.  I suppose  he  would  not  now  recognize 
“Chum,”  as  he  always  called  me,  in  my  prison  garb,  and  he 
probably  will  never  again  recognize  me  in  any  way. 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


65 


I had  joined  the  church  when  I was  fifteen  3'ears  old,  and 
I was  very  religious  when  I was  at  college.  George  James 
was  an  elaborate  .swearer.  I gave  him  a fine  law-bound  edi- 
tion of  Dickens’  works  not  to  swear  anj’  more  till  Christmas- — 
three  months  off.  From  this  start  he,  and  six  other  of  our 
most  intimate  friends,  who  were  the  very  cream  of  college 
society,  all  w'ent  up  one  day  and  joined  Mr.  Campbell’s 
church.  George  is  now  an  Episcopalian.  I will  tell  you  more 
about  him  further  on,  after  he  fell  in  love  with  my  sister.  I 
have  had  .some  lovely  moonlight  walks  on  the  banks  of  the 
Muskingum,  not  far  from  where  I am  now  a pri.soner,  with 
his  prett}^  .sister,  Miss  Bessie.  Another  of  his  sisters  married 
Bancroft,  son  of  the  historian.  I could  write  a whole  book 
about  the  family. 

Miss  Virginia  Campbell,  about  whom  I have  already  told 
you  something — daughter  of  the  “Bi.shop” — and  I became 
very  intimate  friends.  I was  about  nineteen  years  old,  and 
she  about  twenty-one.  She  was  rather  pretty  and  quite  hand- 
some. She  was  full  of  life  and  romantic,  and  was  well  read. 
She  was  splendid  company  for  me.  She  and  I had  one  affec- 
tation in  common.  We  both  went  bare-headed.  I got  it  from 
“Kit  North,”  in  “Noctes  Ambrosianae.”  Miss  Virginia  and 
I took  long  walks  into  the  woods  and  mountains  together. 
Sometimes  we  took  a shot-gun  and  shot  “time  about.’’  I 
don’t  think  either  of  us  will  ever  have  to  answer  for  having 
killed  anything.  One  tirne  she  showed  me,  in  that  same 
creek,  where  her  brother  had  been  drowned.  We  talked  a 
great  deal;  mostly  like  we  were  of  the  same  sex;  .sometimes 
like  we  were  two  boys,  and  sometimes  like  we  were  two  girls; 
the  latter  being  more  natural  to  me,  from  ni^’-  schooling  with 
Miss  Ba.ss.  I don’t  know  what  we  talked  about,  except  one 
time,  and  I don’t  know  what  we  did  not  talk  about.  I went 
to  church  with  her  and  we  sang  out  of  the  same  hymn  book, 
and  with  very  sober  faces,  but  with  signs  that  we  understood, 
made  fun  of  her  father’ s very  long  and  exceedingly  dry  ser- 
mons. She  and  her  father  were  on  most  familiar  terms,  and 
it  was  through  Miss  Virginia  that  I got  to  know  “the  old 
Bishop”  more  intimatelv  than  any  student  that  was  ever  at 


66 


BEHIND  THE  BARS : 31498, 


Bethany.  He  was  grave  to  austerity  commonl}^;  so  much  so 
that  few  would  dare  to  approach  him  except  in  the  same  style, 
but  I found,  after  having  “broken  the  ice,’’  that  the  old  gen- 
tleman thought  that 

“A  little  folly  now  ami  then 
Is  healthful  for  tlie  best  of  men.” 

But  there  was  one  conversation  with  Miss  Virginia  that  I 
shall  never  forget.  We  were  sitting,  one  pretty  May  morn- 
ing, side  by  .side,  on  a little  stile  that  came  over  a fence,  a 
hundred  yards  from  her  home,  into  a pretty  gravel  foot  path 
that  wound  among  pretty  trees  and  flowers,  and  by  her  father’s 
study — a quaint  kind  of  a little  hou.se — and  went  on  down  to 
the  home.  I .sang,  from  Burns,  beginning: 

“I’m  sitting  on  the  stile,  Mary, 

Where  we  sat,  side  by  side, 

In  a bright  May  morning,  long  ago, 

When  first  you  were  my  bride.” 

There  was  a pretty  tree  near  us  and  I asked  her  what 
kind  it  was.  She  answered  by  singing  a song,  beginning: 

“The  larches  have  hung  their  tassels  forth  ;” 

And  I saw  from  its  “tassels’’  that  it  was' a larch  tree. 
Then  Miss  Virginia  locked  her  hands  around  one  knee — hers 
— and,  leaning  back,  assumed  a rather  serious  air  and  tone, 
and  .said  about  as  follows: 

“Mr.  Moore,  I have  something  to  tell  you.  You  and  I 
have  been  together  and  talked  together  so  much  that  I know 
you  as  well  as  you  know  your.self.  My  sister,  Bessie,  is  eigh- 
teen years  old  and  is  now  at  school  in  the  East,  and  she  will 
finish  there  this  session  and  will  be  at  home,  at  our  college 
commencement,  and  you  will  fall  dead  in  love  with  her  just 
as  soon  as  you  see  her.’’ 

She  spoke  like  a Sibyl,  and  it  so  impressed  me  that  I did 
not  .smile,  or  feel  like  it.  It  .sounded  to  me  like  destiny. 

Since  1859  I have  never  spoken  that  name,  Bessie,  and 
have  never  even  written  it  until  now,  for  the  first  time,  forty 
years  afterward,  while  I am  a penitentiary  convict.  Suppose 
Miss  Virginia  and  I could  have  fore.seen  that,  how  would  we 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 3149S. 


67 


have  explained  it?  I asked  Miss  Virginia  if  she  had  a pic- 
ture of  her  sister,  and  she  said  “Yes.” 

(Please  remember  that,  in  writing  as  I do,  I am  liable  to 
discrepancies  in  dates  and  times. ) 

I asked  Miss  Virginia  to  show  me  the  picture  of  her  sis- 
ter, and  we  walked  together  down  to  tlie  house  to  get  it.  It 
was  an  ivory  tpye,  in  a blue  velvet  case.  As  soon  as  I opened 
it  I was  “dead  in  love’’  with  the  face.  It  was  exquisitely 
beautiful,  and  I expressed  my  admiration  in  unqualified  terms. 
De.ssie  afterward  gave  me  a picture  in  the  same  .style,  taken 
after  we  met.  After  seeing  the  picture  that  Miss  Virginia 
showed  me,  we  were  together  a great  deal  as  we  had  been  be- 
fore, and  we  occasionally  talked  about  her  .sister’s  coming 
home,  and  I looked  forward  to  it.  Bessie  was  to  have  a re- 
ception the  evening  of  the  day  that  she  got  home,  and  I was 
invited  to  be  present.  On  the  day  that  she  was  to  get  liome  I 
was  in  a room  at  “Ro.sedale,”  and  a student  came  in  and  said 
that  De.ssie  Campbell  had  just  passed  by  in  a carriage  on  her 
way  home.  I was  sorry  I had  not  seen  the  carriage  and  got- 
ten a glimp.se  of  her.  but  felt  that  I should  see  her  that 
“night,”  as  we  say  in  the  South— “evening,”  as  they  .say  in 
the  North.  George  James  always  took  care  of  my  wardrobe 
for  me,  and  saw  that  I was  handsomely  dressed  for  the  even- 
ing. I got  to  Mr.  Campbell’s  rather  late,  and  the  room  was 
full  of  company  when  I got  there.  It  was  a large  and  quaint 
old  parlor,  all  four  walls  papered  with  illustrations  of  the 
story  of  “Telemachus,”  some  of  which  I had  read,  in  French, 
with  Miss  Bass.  As  .soon  as  I stepped  into  the  parlor  I was 
met  by  Miss  Virginia,  and  she  took  my  arm  and  .started  with 
me  to  introduce  me  to  Des.sie,  who  was  about  the  middle  of 
the  room,  and  who,  I naturally,  recognized  at  once. 

Bessie  saw  what  her  sister  was  preparing  to  do,  and  came 
to  meet  us  and  said,  “Oh!  I don’t  want  to  be  introduced  to 
Mr.  Moore;  I know  him  as  well  as  you  do;”  and  she  locked 
her  hands  through  my  arm,  and  started  off  walking  with  me, 
and,  while  occasionally  stopping  us  both  to  do  her  duties  as 
hostess,  held  on  to  1113^  arm,  and  we  talked  right  from  the  be- 
ginning as  if  we  had  known  each  other  all  our  lives.  She 


68 


BEfllND  TflE  BARS;  31498. 


was  beautiful,  bright,  quick,  witty,  and  was  up  on  all  popular 
society  literature.  I was  “dead  in  love”  with  the  girl  in  one 
minute  after  I saw  her,  and  could  hardly  refrain  from  telling 
her  so,  there  and  then,  when  in  the  sound  of  many  voices  I 
knew  we  would  not  be  overheard;  and  that  I had  been  shown 
extraordinary  attention  by  her  was  perfectly  evident.  After 
the  reception  I went  to  my  room  so  happy  that  I could  not 
sleep,  I had  stayed  there  until  everybody  else  was  gone,  by  an 
arrangement  between  us,  and  when  I left  she  held  my  hand 
and  sang  “Parting  is  pain.’’ 

Only  a night  or  two  after  that  I had  an  engagement  to 
see  her.  It  was  a starlight  summer  night,  and  there  was  no 
light  in  the  parlor,  but  .she  was  at  the  door  ready  to  meet  me, 
and  we  sat,  side  by  side,  on  the  door-sill  of  the  parlor  door 
that  came  out  onto  the  porch,  all  clad  in  honeysU(?kles  and 
roses,  and  when  we  had  hardly  said  anything  she  sang: 

“In  the  starry  light,  of  a summer  night. 

On  tlie  banks  of  the  blue  Moselle 

And  sang  it  with  great  sweetness,  as  leaning  on  her  el- 
bows, on  her  knees,  she  looked  out  into  the  starry  sky.  Miss 
Virginia  passed  us,  and  said,  “Two  are  company;  three’s  too 
many,’’  and  looked  at  me  as  if  to  say,  “I  told  you  so;’’  and 
Dessie  .said,  “Yes,  we  will  excuse  you  for  the  pre.sent.’’  I 
was  seraphically  happy,  and  she  seemed  to  be,  and  yet  we  did 
not  talk  much.  We  didn’t  have  to.  We  seemed  to  under- 
stand each  other  without  talking.  Under  such  circumstances 
I believe  in  telepathy;  especially  when  the  “pathy’’  is  not  too 
“tele.”  Hoops  and  large  skirts  can  be  shoved  up  into  small 
space,  and  when  Miss  Virginia  wanted  to  pass  through  the 
door  in  which  we  were  sitting,  neither  of  us  got  up.  Dessie 
got  over  a little  closer  to  one  side  of  the  door,  and  I got  over 
closer  to  that  same  side  that  Dessie  did,  so  that  Miss  Virginia 
could  not  pass  between  us,  but  had  to  go  in  by  the  opposite 
side  of  the  door,  and  I said,  “Whatsoever  God  hath  joined 
together  let  no  woman  put  asunder.”  Dessie  looked  at  the 
stars  most  of  the  time  and  straight  into  my  face  sometimes, 
and  I looked  at  her  the  most  of  the  time  and  at  the  stars 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


69 


sometimes.  After  we  had  been  sitting  there  an  hour  or  more 
I said  toiler,  “You  have  such  a beautiful  suit  of  hair;  how 
much  of  it  is  yours?’’  I would  not  have  dared  to  tell  her 
that  her  eyes  or  mouth  were  pretty,  though  they  were  just 
killingly  so,  but  somehow  I felt  like  hair  was  not  what  the 
lawyers  call  a “fixture’’’  and  I felt  like  I might  say  what  I 
did.’’  She  answered,  “It’s  all  mine.’’  I said,  “Yes,  I suppose 
it’s  all  either  growing  there,  or  paid  for,  but  I mean  how 
much  of  it  is  yours  by  nature?’  ’ She  pulled  out  a comb  and 
some  hair-pins,  and  a suit  of  hair,  all  natural,  and  beautiful 
as  a mermaid’s  fell  down  upon  the  floor.  I gathered  it  up  in 
my  hands  in  great  hanks,  as  soft  as  silk,  and  we  talked  on  as 
we  had  been  doing. 

If  I could  remember,  away  across  this  long  stretch  of 
years,  what  we  talked  about,  I would  tell  you  exactly,  but  I 
cannot.  We  simply  talked  about  anything  that  we  thought 
about,  and  without  any  form  or  coherance  more  than  the  most 
natural  suggestions.  After  commencement  I went  home  and 
Dessie  and  I corresponded  in  long  letters,  about  as  fast  as  one 
could  answer  the  other.  The  next  se.ssion  I was  to  see  her 
two  or  three  times  every  week.  It  would  take  a book  larger 
than  this  one  to  give  you  any  adequate  idea  of  what  we  said 
and  did.  I will  tell  you  of  a .sample  night.  It  was  in  June, 
and  the  moon  was  about  full,  and  the  .skj^  perfectly  clear,  and 
the  balmy  air  was  full  of  the  fragrance  of  flowers  and  it  was 
all  still,  except  that  we  could  hear  the  night  birds  and  the 
bells  of  the  cows  and  sheep  out  in  the  mountains.  We  walked 
down  to  that  pretty  creek  and  found  a beautiful  white  syca- 
more tree  that  had  lately  fallen  out  into  it,  and  we  sat  to- 
gether on  a springy  limb  and  talked.  Some  part  of  her  dress 
was  trimmed  with  beautiful  large  white  beads  that  were  hol- 
low and  would  float,  and  she  pulled  some  of  these  and  we 
watched  them  as  they  floated  away  in  the  water  that  ran  under 
us  and  shimmered  in  the  moonlight.  I thought  then  that 
it  was  the  most  romantic  of  all  the  scenes  I had  ever  wit- 
nessed. When  the  end  of  the  session  came  I graduated  and 
went  home.  The  next  September  Miss  Virginia  and  Dessie 
came  to  Kentucky,  and  visited  at  different  places,  and  at  my 


70 


BEHIND  THE  BARS,  31498. 


home  among  the  otliers,  My  sister  Mary  and  I were  with 
them  a great  part  of  the  time,  I being  with  them  more  than 
my  sister  was.  I never  saw  any  woman  fall  so  really  in  love 
with  any  other  woman  as  Miss  Virginia  did  with  my  sister 
Mary,  and  when  we  were  all  together  those  two  would  pair 
off,  and  Dessie  and  I would  pair  off. 

George  James  had  graduated  a j^ear  before  I did,  and  had 
come  home  with  me  at  vacation.  We  had  gotten  to  my  home 
and  were  in  the  parlor,  and  he  was  talking  and  laughing  as 
he  whirled  himself  around  on  a piano  stool.  He  was  quite 
handsome  and  was  dressed  in  fine  taste  My  sister  Mary  came 
into  the  parlor  and  George  saw  her  for  the  first  time,  as  I in- 
troduced them.  He  stood  looking  at  her  like  a man  who  was 
dazed,  and  as  if,  with  all  his  society  manners,  he  hardly  knew 
what  to  do  or  say,  and  he  only  gained  his  self-possession  by 
slow  degrees.  We  had  a triangular  talk  for  a little  while,  and 
when  she  left  the  room  George  folded  his  hands  as  if  in  an 
ecstasy,  and  said,  “Oh;  Chum,  why  didn’t  you  tell  me  you 
had  a pretty  sister?’  ’ I had  never  thought  of  my  own  sister 
as  being  pretty.  Boys  generally  think  that  of  other  boys’ 
sisters;  but  when  my  sister  Mary  married  Major  Brent,  and  I 
went  with  them  on  their  bridal  tour,  I remember  that  when 
they  entered  the  dining  room  of  the  Cataract  House,  at  Ni- 
agara, then  the  Mecca  of  all  the  most  elegant  bridal  parties 
in  the  United  States,  the}'  attracted  the  admiration  of  more 
elegant  people  than  any  couple  I ever  saw.  George  was,  at 
once,  de.sperately  in  love  with  my  sister. 

made  up  a part}^  of  twenty  persons,  including  our 
chaperons,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  B.  F.  Groom,  of  Clark  County, 
Kentuck}’,  to  go  to  the  Mammoth  Cave.  Miss  Virginia,  Des- 
sie, Sister  Mar}-,  George  James  and  I were  in  the  party.  We 
went  through  the  country  in  two  omnibuses  with  four  fine 
horses  to  each.  It  was  in  October,  and  we  had  not  only  the 
moonlight,  but  a comet,  that,  it  seems  to  me,  must  have  been 
the  grandest  that  was  ever  witnessed.  I do  not  know  the 
names  of  but  three  comets,  from  memory,  as  I have  to  write; 
tho.se  of  Encke,  Biela  and  Donnatti,  and  I do  not  know  if  the 
one  then  visible,  for  more  than  a mouth,  was  one  of  them; 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


71 


but  while  it.s  head  was  near  the  zenith  its  tail  spread  clear  to 
the  horizon,  over  nearly  a fourth  of  the  heavens.  We  rode  a 
good  part  of  the  way  after  night,  the  w^eather  being  delight- 
ful, and  most  of  the  time  we  were  on  top  of  the  omnibuses. 
As  we  went  through  the  mountains  of  Kentucky  we  found 
papaws,  persimmons  and  chestnuts.  Sometime  in  search  of 
them  the  omnibuses  would  be  emptied  of  all  their  passen- 
gers, and  they  straggled  through  the  woods.  It  took  us 
nearly  a week  to  go  and  that  long  to  come.  In  going  we 
passed  over  what  was  afterward  the  battle-field  of  Perry ville, 
a fearful  battle  in  which  Major  Brent  was,  and  when  I came 
across  it  after  the  war,  it  had  long  rows  of  trenches  in  which 
the  dead  had  been  buried.  We  had  .some  exceedingly  roman- 
tic and  .some  funny  experiences  going. 

One  day  Mr.  Groom  had  arranged  for  us  all  to  stop  at  a 
certain  place,  that  he  had  never  seen,  for  dinner.  About  din- 
ner-time we  got  to  a house  that  was  unusually  large  and  fine 
for  that  country.  Our  two  omnibuses  stopped,  and  the  whole 
twenty  of  us  rolled  out  and  took  po.ssessiou  of  the  yard  and 
house,  and  the  two  Negro  drivers  took  our  eight  horses  to  the 
stable.  The  women  servant.s — it  was  slave  times — met  our 
party  with  large  and  hospitable  grins  on  their  faces,  and  told 
us  that  the  Master  and  Mistre.ss  were  at  church— it  was  Sat- 
day—  but  said  they  would  soon  be  at  home.  Some  of  us  were 
pitching  honse-shoes  in  the  yard,  and  .some  playing  the 
piano  and  dancing  in  the  parlor  when  the  proprietor  and  his 
wife  came  home.  We  saw  the  lady  and  her  force  of  female 
servants  begin  active  preparations  for  a dinner,  while  the  gen- 
tleman talked  to  Mr.  Groom.  We  had  a gay  time  and  ate  a 
splendid  dinner.  When  the  horses  were  put  to  the  omni- 
bu.ses  and  we  were  about  read}^  to  start,  we  saw  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Groom  and  the  proprietor  and  his  wife  in  what  appeared  to 
be  a very  embarrassing  conversation,  on  the  porch.  Soon 
after  Mr.  Groom  called  up  all  of  us,  and  we  saw  that  he  had 
an  expression  on  his  face  that  was  a combination  of  morti- 
fication and  amusement.  He  ordered  us  all  to  string  out  in  a 
straight  row  before  the  porch,  and  we  all  obeyed,  curious  to 
know  what  had  happened.  Mr.  Groom  then  explained  to  us 


72 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


all — the  proprietor  and  his  wife  protesting  all  the  time — that 
we  had  made  a mistake;  that  we  were  not  at  a public  house 
at  all,  but  at  the  hou.se  of  a private  gentleman,  who  would 
accept  no  pay  for  his  elegant  entertainment  of  us;  and  Mr. 
Groom  told  us  that  every  one  had  to  make  a personal  apology 
to  the  gentleman  and  his  wife.  The  apologizing  was  begun 
in  hard  earnest,  but  our  host  and  hostess  made  a joke  of  it, 
and  the  apologizing  got  to  be  very  amusing  before  we  all  got 
through.  The  gentleman  and  hi^  wdfe  had  .seen,  from  the  be- 
ginning, that  we  were  mistaken,  and  had  tried  to  get  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Groom  not  to  tell  us  any  better. 

One  night  we  stopped  at  a little  hou.se  that  had  only  two 
.sleeping  rooms  beside  the  family  room,  and  all  the  ladies  had 
to  sleep  in  one  room  and  all  the  gentlemen  in  another.  As 
we  went  upstairs  to  bed  I picked  up  a dinner-bell  and  a ball 
of  yarn  that  were  on  the  steps,  and  did  it  so  that  no  cr . no- 
ticed it.  Our  party  were  all  tired  and  sleepy,  and  were  . . ..n 
asleep.  We  had  in  the  party  a man  named  Gano,  who  w.i 
getting  to  be  an  old  bachelor,  and  therefore  more  .sedate  than 
the  balance  of  ns,  and  we  made  him  the  victim  of  a good 
many  of  our  jokes.  I held  the  bell  by  the  clapper,  and  man- 
aged to  get  it  hidden  in  my  bed  wdthout  its  making  any  noise. 
Gano  was  sleeping  on  the  floor.  When  all  were  asleep  and 
still  I went  out  in  the  hall  between  the  two  rooms  and  tied 
my  Ijell  under  the  middle  of  the  bottom  of  a hickory-.split 
chair,  and,  tying  the  yarn  string  to  the  clapper,  I unwound 
it  as  I went  along  Ijack  to  my  bed,  and  got  in.  I tolled  my 
bell  for  a few  times,  but  with  no  effect  upon  the  .sleeping 
household,  but,  finalh',  as  I kept  ringing  it,  occasionally,  I 
heard  them  begin  to  stir,  upstairs  and  down.  Expressions  of 
di.sapprobation  came  from  the  ladies’  room.  After  awhile  I 
heard  the  proprietor  get  up  and  go  to  his  door  and  call  a Ne- 
gro man  to  come  to  the  hou.se  and  go  upstaii's  and  see  who 
was  ringing  the  bell.  I tolled  it  occasional!}^  until  I heard  the 
man  get  to  the  house,  and  then  I stopped.  The  old  Negro 
man  came  and  went  around  the  hall  and  through  our  room, 
where  everybody  else  was  in  deep  sleep,  as  .soon  as  I stopped 
ringing  the  bell,  and  I was,  apparently,  as  sound  asleep  as 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


73 


any  of  them.  The  old  man  went  down  and  reported  that 
everybody  wa.s  asleep  and  that  he  could  not  find  the  bell. 
When  everything  was  quiet  again,  I commenced  ringing  the 
bell,  and  the  bal)y  woke  up,  down  stairs,  and  began  crying, 
and  the  proprietor  got  up,  and,  going  to  the  door,  called  an- 
other servant  to  the  house,  and  when  he  got  there  told  him  to 
go  upstairs  and  not  come  down  until  he  found  that  bell.  This 
time  it  was  a little  Negro  boy.  The  boy  came  upstairs,  and, 
after  taking  a general  survey  of  the  situation,  found  the  yarn 
string  in  the  hall,  traced  it  to  the  chair  and  found  the  bell, 
and  then  followed  the  yarn  back  into  our  room.  I pitched 
the  ball  so  that  it  rolled  right  to  Gano’s  head,  and  the  little 
Negro  traced  it  right  to  him.  Gano  was  sound  asleep  and 
snoring.  The  little  darkey  evidently  thought  he  was  awake, 
and  that  he  was  simply  pretending  to  snore,  and,  standing  at 
Gano’s  head,  and  looking  down  on  him,  as  I could  see  him  in 
the  moonlight,  the  little  Negro  clenched  his  fists  and  said: 
“Oh!  yes,  confouu’  you;  you  tend  like  you  never  wus  wake.’’ 
I told  the  story  afterward,  and  “You  tend  like  you  never  wus 
wake,’’  got  to  be  a saying  through  the  balance  of  the  trip. 

When  we  got  to  the  Mammoth  Cave  I undertook  to 
amuse  myself  again  at  the  expen.se  of  others,  one  night.  The 
boys  put  me  out  of  the  room  and  fastened  me  out.  I found  a 
lot  of  ten-pin  balls  and  rolled  them  for  more  than  a hundred 
yards  on  the  long  porches  of  that  strange  old  hotel,  until  they 
compromised  by  letting  me  in  again. 

“I  have  been  across  the  ocean  blue 

And  seen  it  in  all  its  glory,” 

I have  climbed  the  mountains  on  foot,  on  horseback  and 
over  railway's.  I have  .swum  in  the  Mis.si.ssippi,  and  traveled 
on  it  in  skiffs  and  grand  steamboats,  from  where  it  is  as  pel- 
lucid a.s  fine  glass,  to  where  it  rolls  its  turgid  billows  below 
New  Orleans.  I have  been  on  the  great  lakes  when  they 
were  so  dreamily  beautiful  that  it  was  hard  to  realize  that  it 
was  not  “a  painted  ship  upon  a painted  sea,’’  and  I have  .stood 
awe-struck  as  I looked  out  over  the  thundering  abysses  of  Ni- 
agara and  heard  what  “Paul  Dombey”  called  “the  voice  of 


74 


BEHIND  THE  BARS:  31498. 


the  great  Creator  that  dwells  in  its  mighty  tone,”  and  I looked, 
night  after  night,  on  the  wondrous  comet,  such  a sight  as  can 
be  had  only  once  in  thousands  of  years,  with  an  ineffable 
longing  to  know  its  story — whence  it  came  and  whither  it 
went,  dragging  a fiery  tail  of  billions  of  miles  in  length,  and 
into  the  chaos  of  which  our  earth  and  sun  and  the  whole  solar 
system  could  have  dropped  and  been  lost  as  a pebble  in  the 
depths  of  mid-ocean,  a sight  that  far  surpassed  the  most 
weird  dream  of  the  apocalyptic  seer  of  Patmos;  but  with  my 
knowledge  of  geology  and  training  in  romance  and  poetry, 
and  communion  with  beautiful  scenery,  at  the  most  impres- 
sionable and  susceptible  period  of  my  life,  nothing  so  over- 
powered me  with  its  inscrutable  mystery  and  unutterable 
grandeur,  as  my  first  walk  through  the  Mammoth  Cave;  nor 
do  I know  that  my  impressions  have  been  less  profound  in  the 
several  visits  I have  since  made  to  it,  sometimes  traversing 
its  mazy  labyrinth  only  with  a guide,  and  sometimes  with 
large  parties.  All  the  wonders  of  nature  bow  their  heads  in 
reverent  obeisance  when  they  come  to  the  shores  of  ‘‘Echo 
River.”'  Dessie  was  a little  undersize,  anyhow,  and  when  she 
appeared  in  her  bloomer  costume  for  the  walk  in  the  cave,  I 
thought  she  was  the  cutest  looking  little  piece  of  humanity  I 
had  ever  seen.  Sister  Mary,  tall,  graceful,  and  dignified, 
looked  just  as  queenly  in  her  bloomer  of  Scotch  plaid,  as  she 
did,  a year  or  two  afterward,  when,  at  her  wedding,  the  band 
played  ‘‘Bonnie  Mary  of  Argyll,”  I had  on  a fancy  costume 
of  blood-red  flannel,  red  cap  and  red  shoes,  almost  trenching 
on  the  make-up  of  Mephistopholes  in  the  great  opera  ‘‘Faust.” 
In  all  that  had  ever  passed  between  Dessie  and  me,  in 
writing  or  talking,  I had  never  told  her  that  I loved  her,  ex- 
cept in  such  action  as  I have  de.scribed  to  you,  but  I had  de- 
termined that  when  we  got  to  the  ‘‘Bridal  Chamber,”  in  the 
Mammoth  Cave,  I was  going  to  tell  her  that  I loved  her,  and 
ask  her  to  marry  me.  She  and  1 walked  together,  most  of 
the  time  behind  the  others  of  the  party,  and  a good  part  of 
the  time  we  walked  hand  in  hand.  I do  not  recollect  what 
we  were  talking  about,  except  that  I was  telling  her  abou^ 
the  conjugation  of  Greek  verbs  and  reduplication  and  the  use 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


76 


of  Nu  ephelkusticou — if  that’s  the  way  to  spell  it — in  Greek 
euphoii3\  We  had  two  guides,  white  and  black,  but  the  Ne- 
groes were  generally  preferred,  and  we  had  a Negro — I forget 
his  name — but  he  was  second  onl>’  to  the  dead  Stephen,  the 
Negro  who  had  been  the  most  famous  of  all  the  guides.  I 
thought  it  proper  that  a guide  should  be  guj-ed,  and  I pro- 
ceeded to  guy  him.  I was  fresh  and  up-to-date  on  geological 
terminology',  and  with  a pedantic  concatenation  of  technical 
nomenclature,  I asked  him  what,  in  smaller  words,  was  the 
same  as,  “Why'  do  y'ou  call  those  things  up  there  above  us 
stalactites,  and  these  below  stalagmites?’’  He  answered  with- 
out a moment’s  hesitation,  “We  call  those  above  stalactites, 
because  if  they'  were  not  tight  they'  would  not  stick  there. 
We  call  the.se  below  stalagmites  because  they  might  be  tight; 
we  do  not  know.’’  The  laugh  was  at  my  expense.  To  this 
day  I have  to  recall  that  darkey'’s  answer  when  I want  to  re- 
member which  are  stalactites  and  which  are  stalagmites. 

I had  never  told  anybody',  in  the  world,  that  I intended 
to  tell  Dessie  I loved  her  when  we  got  to  the  “Bridal  Cham- 
ber.’’ It  is  a famous  place  for  court.ships,  and  is  the  place 
where  the  girl  married  the  man  whom  she  had  vowed  to  her 
parents  she  would  “never  marry'  on  the  face  of  the  earth.” 
The  “Bridal  Chamber”  is  .several  miles  from  the  mouth. 
When  we  got  there  Dessie  ran  ahead  of  me  and  sat  down  in 
the  “Devil’s  arm  chair.”  Miss  \'irginia  and  Sister  Mary, 
who  were,  as  usual,  together,  seemed  to  know  what  I intended 
to  do  just  as  well  as  if  I had  told  them,  and  managed  to 
keep  near  me  and  De.ssie,  and,  without  saying  a word,  ju.st 
watched  us  with  a smile  on  their  faces,  intended  to  worry  me, 
or  both  of  us,  and  certainly  succeeding,  .so  far  as  I was  con- 
cerned, and  we  went  on  by  the  “Bridal  Chamber,”  and  I had 
not  told  Dessie  the  little  story  of  my  love,  and  a.sked  her  that 
cpiestion  upon  the  monosyllabic  answer  to  which  so  much  of 
human  destiny  hangs.  Our  whole  trip  to  the  cave,  and  there 
and  back  was  one  of  as  unalloyed  pleasure  as  is  ever  known. 

One  of  the  y'oung  men  was  in  love  with  Miss  Virginia, 
and  two  of  them  with  my  sister.  When  we  came  back  from 
the  cave  we  visited  several  places  together.  V^e  spent  a week 


76 


BEHIND  THE  BARS:  31498. 


at  the  elegant  home  of  Mr.  Richard  White,  near  Richmond, 
Kentucky.  The  weather  was  getting  cold  in  the  late  fall, 
and  one  night  in  a large  room  where  there  was  a bright  fire, 
and  a large  group  of  us  sitting  around  it,  Bessie  and  I took 
our  chairs  and  walked  to  the  furthest  corner  of  the  room,  and 
sat  right  close  together,  with  our  faces  right  up  in  the  corner, 
and  talked  so  that  nobody  else  could  hear  us.  After  talking 
this  way  for  half  an  hour,  she  got  up  and  walked  out  of  a 
door  into  a broad  hall,  and  to  the  opposite  side  of  it.  Then 
I walked  out  into  that  same  hall  to  meet  her.  The  hall 
lamp  was  not  very  bright,  and' there  was  no  one  else  in 
the  hall,  and  Bessie  came  toward  me  and  we  met  about  the 
middle  of  the  hall.  I held  out  both  my  hands  and  she  held 
• out  both  of  hers,  and  she  put  both  of  her  hands  on  my  arms 
and  I took  her  by  both  of  her  arms  and  said:  “Miss  Bessie,  I 
love  you;  will  you  marry  me?’’  She  looked  me  straight  in 
the  face,  and,  with  great  earnestness,  simply  said  “Yes,’’ 
and  then  quickly  turned  me  around,  and  taking  my  arm 
walked  with  me  back  into  the  room  from  which  we  had  both 
come.  I was  so  happy  that  I could  hardly  talk,  and  hardly 
slept  that  night.  There  was  no  railroad  from  Lexington  to 
Richmond  then,  and  a day  or  two  after  that.  Miss  Virginia 
Si.ster  Mary,  Bessie  and  I all  went  back  to  Lexington  in  a 
large  stage  coach,  there  being  no  pas.sengers  but  us  four. 
Be.ssie  and  I sat  on  the  back  seat,  and  they  sat  with  their 
backs  to  us  in  front  of  us.  The  day  was  a little  dark,  and  it 
was  still  darker  in  the  deep,  back  .seat,  with  no  windows  on  it 
where  we  sat,  the  seat  on  the  sides  and  behind,  all  upholstered 
in  soft  Russia  leather,  higher  than  our  heads,  and  we  had  the 
fast  horses  and  one  of  the  fine  turnpikes  for  which  Kentucky 
is  famous,  and  forty  miles  ride  ahead  of  us.  I wrapped  Bes- 
sia  and  myself  all  snug  and  warm  in  our  fine  wraps,  and  held 
her  hand  in  mine  under  the  wraps.  After  a few  abortive  ef- 
forts, by  Miss  Virginia  and  Sister  Mary,  to  worry  us  by  in- 
sinuating looks  and  suggestions,  they  quit  it  and  fell  into  a 
spirited  conversation  in  which  they  completely  ignored  us, 
and  what  little  talking  Bessie  and  I did  was  so  low  that  our 
sisters  could  not  hear. 


BEHIND  THE  BARS:  31498. 


77 


lu  the  early  part  of  the  winter  Miss  Virginia  and  De.ssie 
went  home,  and  not  a great  while  after  I went  to  see  them, 
and  spent  about  two  weeks  at  Mr.  Campbell’s.  Dessie  and  I 
would  sit  together  on  a divan  before  a big  coal  fire  in  the  par- 
lor that  we  had  all  to  ourselves,  and  every  night,  about  12 
o’clock,  Mrs.  Campbell  would  come  in  and  give  us  a little  free 
lecture  on  keeping  late  hours,  and  order  Dessie  off  to  her 
room  and  me  to  mine,  and  Dessie  went  with  a pouting  pro- 
test. On  the  night  before  I was  to  leave  for  home  Dessie  had 
said  to  me  that  when  her  mother  came,  as  usual,  to  send  us  to 
our  rooms,  we  must  both  go  as  usual,  and  then  that  I must 
come  back  to  the  parlor,  and  that  she  would  steal  back,  too, 
after  her  mother  was  asleep.  My  room  opened  into  the  par- 
lor, and  when  all  was  quiet  I went  back  into  the  parlor  and 
waited  a long  time;  but  Dessie  did  not  come,  and  I finally  con- 
cluded that  she  was  uot  coming,  and  I went  back  to  my  room 
and  retired.  The  next  morning  Dessie  told  me  that  she  got 
to  the  parlor  soon  after  I had  gone  to  my  room  the  second 
time,  and  that  she  waited  there  for  me  until  daylight.  We 
corresponded  after  I went  home  by  long  letters  in  which  we 
recognized  each  other  as  prospective  husband  and  wife,  but 
we  never  set  any  time  when  we  were  to  be  married,  and  I said 
to  her  that  though  she  knew  it  was  the  great  hope  of  my  life, 
we  were  both  young  enoiigh  to  wait,  and  that  I would  wait, 
as  patiently  as  I could,  for  her  to  name  the  time  when  she  was 
to  become  my  wife. 

The  next  commencement  my  Sister  Mary  and  I went  to 
Bethany,  and  without  any  effort  on  her  part  she  won  the 
hearts  of  everybody.  The  next  fall  Miss  Virginia  and  Dessie 
went  to  St  Douis.  It  was  commonly  known  that  Dessie  and  I 
were  engaged,  and  a lady  got  the  news  to  me  that  Dessie  was 
receiving  such  attentions  from  young  gentlemen  as  no  affianced 
girl  ought  to  do.  I never  knew  whether  it  was  true  or  false, 
but  it  .seemed  to  crush  every  hope  in  my  heart,  and  I.^wrote 
Dessie  a letter  upbraiding  her.  She  was,  all  the  time,  wear- 
ing a very  handsome  diamond  ring  that  I had  given  her,  on 
the  inside  of  which  was  the  date  of  our  engagement.  Dessie 
wrote  me  in  answer  to  my  letter,  a sweet  and  affectionate  let- 


78 


BEHIND  THE  BABR;  31498. 


ter,  but  in  which  she  asked  me  to  let  her  break  her  engage- 
ment to  marry  me.  With  a crushed  heart  and  a brain  that 
was  aflame  in  agony,  I answered  at  once  my  willingness  for 
her  to  break  the  engagement,  and  I never  again  even  hinted 
one  word  of  love  to  her.  I was  fond  of  walking,  and,  on  the 
day  that  I got  her  letter  asking  me  to  break  her  engagement. 
I looked  at  the  lunatic  asylum  as  I walked  by  it  on  my  way 
home,  eight  miles  in  the  country,  and  thought  it  po.ssible 
that,  before  long,  I would  be  a patient  in  that  institution. 
The  world  all  turned  dark  to  me,  and  remained  so  for  the 
six  years  that  should  have  been  the  happiest  and  mo.st  im- 
portant of  my  life.  The  inherited  spirit  of  my  preacher- 
grand-father  came  upon  me,  and,  to  bury  my  sorrow,  I deter- 
mined to  devote  my  whole  life  to  preaching,  I went  back  to 
Bethany  to  study  theology.  The  war  w'as  almost  on  us,  and 
military  companies  were  organizing.  I was  ordained  to  the 
mini.stry,  Mr.  Campbell  being  the  leading  minister  on  the  oc- 
casion. Dessie  was  present,  but  I never  spoke  to  her  until 
the  day  that  I was  to  go  home.  I went  to  see  her  and  we 
walked  out  into  a beautiful  mountain  overlooking  that  stream 
of  which  I have  told  you,  she  leaning  on  my  arm.  We  sat  in 
a beautiful  place,  and  both  of  us  cried  like  we  were  both  heart- 
broken. We  sat  there  for  an  hour,  and  we  .scarcely  said  a 
word,  except  that  when  I raised  her  up  to  go  back  to  her 
home  I said  “Good-bye,”  the  last  word  I ever  .spoke  or  wrote 
to  her,  and,  as  I believe  I have  told  you,  I have  never  spoken 
her  name  to  this  day,  and  have  never  written  it  even  once, 
until  I have  written  it  here  in  this  book  while  I am  a peniten- 
tiary convict.  When  she  had  married  Dr.  J.  Judson  Barclay, 
United  States  Envoy  to  Palestine,  Dessie  wrote  me  a long  let- 
ter from  Cyprus,  telling  me  of  her  little  girl  that  had  lately 
been  born,  her  first  child,  and  saying  it  was  “as  pretty  as 
Mi.ss  Venus  herself  just  out  of  the  sea,”  an  expression  she 
had  often  used  to  me,  and  that  now  seemed  strangely  applica- 
ble when  she  was  born  of  the  sea.  Fifteen  years  after  that  I 
saw  her  the  only  time  I have  ever  seen  her  since  we  parted  at 
the  door  of  her  home  in  Bethany  after  our  last  walk  on  the 
mountain.  Des.sie  was  about  the  middle  of  ten  thousand 


BEHllSTD  THE  BaRS  ; 31498. 


79 


spectators  at  the  Lexington  fair,  in  the  grand  amphitheater, 
and  I was  out  in  the  ring  in  front,  two  hundred  feet  away, 
among  newspaper  reporters  and  editors.  She  could  easily  see 
me.  I picked  up  a splendid  pair  of  field  glasses  and  turned 
them  over  that  great  crowd,  and  finally  found  her  and  recog- 
nized her  at  once,  and  I saw  plainly  that  she  had  a pair  of 
large  opera  gla.sses  and  was  looking  at  me.  I took  down  my 
glasses  and  that  was  the  last  I ever  saw  her,  and  we  did  not, 
in  any  way,  communicate. 

I believe  I will  start  the  story  of  my  preaching  with  a 
new  chapter,  which  is 


80 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  idea  of  making  any  money  by  preaching  had  never 
entered  my  head.  My  only  purpose  was  to  drown  my  sorrow 
in  doing  good,  as  I thought,  for  my  fellow-men,  and  I never, 
in  all  my  life,  took  a cent  for  preaching.  My  father  had  died 
and  I was  appointed  administrator  on  his  estate,  which  was 
worth  nearly  $100,000.  He  owed  about  $6,000,  and  I paid 
about  $3,000  of  this  out  of  personalty  of  his  estate,  and  it 
would  have  been  necessar}-  for  me  to  sell  enough  Negroes  to 
pay  the  other  $3,000,  but  rather  than  to  do  that  I incurred 
my  first  debt  and  borrowed,  individually,  $3,000  to  pay  the 
balance.  I thought  they  would  be  emancipated  in  the  war, 
and  I wanted  them  all  to  go  free  from  the  old  home.  The 
romantic  was  still  dominant  in  my  nature,  though  my  whole 
life  was  changed  from  gladness  to  .sorrow. 

I had  a suit  of  black  cloth  made,  that  I wore  all  the  time. 
The  coat  was  very  long  and  was  the  conventional  .style  of  the 
clergy,  straight  breast,  and  buttoned  with  only  one  button  at 
the  throat,  my  ve.st  being  also  of  the  clerical  style.  I wore  a 
broad,  black  .soft  hat,  with  low  crown,  and  I had  a beautiful 
patent-leather  knapsack,  in  which  I carried  my  books  and 
underclothing.  I had  thick-soled  walking  shoes.  I had  in 
my  knap.sack  a flute.  Thus  equipped,  I started  for  the  moun- 
tains of  Kentucky  to  preach  whenever  and  wherever  I found 
opportunity.  Beyond  Richmond  I passed  right  by  the  house 
where  Bessie  said  “Yes.”  Life  in  this  cell  is  a paradise  com- 
pared with  what  I then  felt  with  the  fir.st  blue  outlines  of  the 
mountains  marked  dimly  on  the  sky  far  away,  and  I was,  ap- 
parently, the  freest  of  the  free.  There  were  three  brothers, 
named  Azbill,  who  lived  in  the  mountains,  and  who  were  all 
preachers  in  my  church,  and  a fourth  brother  of  the  family 
who,  I was  told,  desired  to  preach.  His  first  name  was  Over- 
ton.  I found  him  in  a very  wild  place  in  the  mountains, 
making  a speech  to  the  worst  looking  body  of  men  I ever  saw 
to  induce  them  to  volunteer  as  .soldiers  in  the  Federal  army. 
We  had  never  met  before,  and  he  had  never  heard  of  me.  I 
walked  right  up  to  him  while  he  was  making  a very  excited 


BEHIND  THE  BaBS;  31498. 


81 


speech  to  the  men,  nearl}’  all  of  whom  had  rough  home-made 
fighting-knives  sticking  in  their  belts,  and  told  him  that  I 
wanted  him  to  come,  right  then,  and  go  with  me  to  preach. 
He  left  the  crowd  without  one  word  of  explanation  to  them, 
and  went  with  me.  I was  the  officiating  preacher  in  his  or- 
dination, next  day,  and  he  preached  with  me,  much  of  the 
time;  quit  his  preaching  when  I did,  and  was  killed  by  a fall 
from  a horse,  years  afterward,  when  he  was  practicing  medi- 
cine. As  we  walked  from  the  place  where  we  first  met  he 
showed  me  a picture  of  a witch  that  one  of  his  neighbors  had 
cut  on  a beech  tree  and  shot  with  a silver  bullet,  because  the 
witch,  a woman  living  near  there,  had  bewitched  his  cows  and 
made  them  give  bloody  milk.  The  first  shot  had  missed  the 
figure,  and  I could  see  the  hole  it  had  made,  but  the  next  one 
had  struck  it  in  a fatal  place,  and  the  cows  had  gotten  all 
right.  It  was  hard  to  get  silver  bullets,  as  they  were  always 
made  of  coin,  and  there  was  no  .silver  in  circulation.  Azbill 
.showed  me  the  picture  and  the  shots  as  an  instance  of  super- 
stition that  he  did  not  believe  in,  but  he  did  not  ridicule  it. 
My  peculiar  dress,  and  traveling  on  foot  and  preaching,  at  a 
time  when  war  and  fighting  were  the  only  things  that  any- 
body was  talking  about,  excited  some  curiosity  to  see  me  and 
hear  me  talk  and  preach, 

I went,  that  night,  to  the  home  of  James  Azbill,  the  eld- 
est of  the  preacher  brothers.  His  home  was  an  exceedingly 
poor  one.  When  we  had  family  prayers,  that  night,  the  light 
which  they  furnished  me  to  read  from  was  a stove  leg  in  the 
hollow  of  which  bacon  grease  had  been  poured,  and  into  this 
was  put  a cotton  rag,  twisted  into  a string,  and  lighted.  We 
arranged  that  I was  to  go  with  him,  the  next  day,  which  was 
Sunday,  and  that  I should  preach,  and  before  we  started,  Sun- 
day morning,  he  shod  his  horse,  I blowing  the  bellows  for 
him.  The  meeting  was  in  a log  house  that  was  used  for  a 
church  and  school  house,  too.  I preached  there  twice  a day 
for  a week,  and  baptized  some  persons  who  joined  the  church. 

I there  saw,  for  the  first  time,  one  of  the  strange  relig- 
ious demonstrations  that  are  mentioned  in  the  history  of  my 
grand-father’s  preaching.  My  preaching  was  nearly  all  just 


82 


BEIUND  THE  BARS:  31498. 


in  a conversational  tone.  During  one  of  these  talks  an  un- 
married woman  about  twenty- one  years  old,  began  to  shout, 
and  kept  it  up  so  long  and  with  such  vigor  that  she  finally 
had  to  be  carried  out  of  the  hou.se  by  some  of  the  other 
women,  and  was,  afterward,  brought  in  with  her  head  tied  up 
like  one  suffering  from  headache.  The  same  thing  occurred 
with  a married  wmman  in  maturer  years,  once  after  that  when 
I was  sitting  and  talking,  in  an  ordinary  conversational  style, 
about  religious  matters,  in  a private  family  circle.  Tho.se 
were  the  only  two  in.stances  of  the  kind  I ever  witnessed. 
Many  cases  of  that  kind,  though  in  greater  degree,  are  re- 
ported in  connection  with  my  grand-father’s  preaching,  and 
occur,  at  intervals,  in  Kentucky,  to  this  day.  My  mother 
has  told  me  that  my  grand-father  never  encouraged  or  con- 
demned it.  In  my  own  experience  I was  surprised  to  see  how 
little  of  excitement,  as  I regarded  it,  in  what  I was  .saying, 
produced  such  marked  results  in  those  who  were  influenced 
by  it.  I was  an  indifferent  orator,  especially  as  they  count 
oratory  in  the  pulpit  in  the  mountains.  I preached  in  the 
open  air,  or  court  hou.se,  or  .school  house,  or  private  hou.se,  or 
church,  just  as  the  occasion  suggested.  I rarely  had  large 
audiences,  but  every  day  of  the  week,  two  or  three  times  a 
day,  I would  have  small  audiences,  the  people  making  all  the 
arrangements  as  to  where  I was  to  preach.  It  was  always  ar- 
ranged by  the  others  where  I was  to  stay,  and  there  was 
nearly  always  a company  invited  to  stay  with  me  wherever  I 
was.  Sometimes  I was  taken  to  the  very  best  hou.ses  in  the 
country  and  sometimes  to  the  poorest.  The  people  who  heard 
me  talk  in  the  family  circle  seemed  to  enjoy'  it  very  much. 

I was  fresh  from  college  and  loved  the  natural  sciences, 
and  they  listened  with  great  interest  to  what  I told  them  about 
botany,  zoology,  astronomy,  and  e.specially  about  geology, 
their  country  abounding  in  most  wonderful  geological  phe- 
nomena. It  was  geology  in  these  mountains  that  had  much 
to  do  with  my  subsequent  abandonment  of  the  ministry.  I 
was  wonderfully  impressed  by  the  conglomerate  that  I found 
on  the  tops  of  the  mountains.  Here  were  great  masses  of 
pebbles,  as  hard  as  flint,  that  had  evidently  been  rolled  in  the 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


83 


sand  and  water  for  ages  until  they  were  polished  into  the 
shape  of  almonds,  and  then  the  sand  had  been  packed  down 
between  them  and  the  whole  mass  had  become  so  hard  that 
old  mill-stones  made  of  that  conglomerate  stone  are  now 
found  in  Kentucky.  Of  course  it  indicated  to  me  that  the 
tops  of  those  mountains  had  once  been  the  bed  of  the  sea, 
and  what  Hugh  Miller  called  “the  te.stimony  of  the  rocks,’’ 
as  to  the  age  of  the  earth,  seemed  to  me  in  hopeless  conflict 
with  the  chronology  of  the  Bible,  as  interpreted  by  its  highest 
accepted  authority.  Bishop  Ush^r. 

One  of  the  most  inexplacable  things  that  the  mountain- 
eers showed  me  in  their  country  was  the  “gnawed  pine.’’  In 
the  midst  of  pine  forests,  where  there  was  no  difference  in  the 
nature  of  the  pines  that  the  mountaineers  or  I could  see,  and 
at  intervals  of  ten  or  twenty  miles  apart,  there  would  be  a 
pine  tree  to  which  the  bears  would  come,  for  miles,  and  they 
would  gnaw  every  particle  of  the  dermoid  membrane — the 
rough  bark — down  to  what  we  may  call  the  cutis  vera,  from 
the  very  ground  up  as  far  on  every  branch  of  that  tree  as  it 
would  bear  the  weight  of  a bear — a sort  of  bear  and  forbear. 
Such  was  the  eagerne.ss  of  the  bears  to  gnaw  on  one  of  these 
trees  that  the  hunters  watched  the  trees  to  kill  bears,  as  they 
did  salt  licks  to  kill  deer.  I have  never  been  able  to  And  any 
explanation  of  this  phenomenon.  So  little  did  these  moun- 
taineers know  of  the  world,  that  when  the  government,  for 
war  purposes,  put  up,  about  that  time,  a telegraph  through 
their  country,  many  of  them  went  miles  to  see  it. 

During  the  several  days  that  I would  preach  at  one  place 
there  would  nearly  always  be  some  persons  who  would  “join 
the  church,’’  and  I would  baptize  them.  Generally  they  were 
young  people,  and  most  of  them  3^oung  women,  some  of  them 
fine  specimens  of  mountain  beauty.  Some  of  the  baptismal 
scenes  were  ver>'  romantic.  There  were  places  in  the  streams 
that  were  beautiful  enough  for  the  homes  of  water  nymphs 
and  naiads.  The  mountaineers  would  furnish  ■ me  some  of 
their  rough  clothes  for  baptismal  purposes,  and  I would  stand 
at  the  edge  of  the  water  and  deliver  a short  discourse,  ex- 
planatory of  the  ordinance  and  then,  after  a prayer,  I would 


84 


BEHIND  THE  BAES;  314S8. 


lead  the  candidates,  one  at  a time,  into  the  water,  and  baptize 
them  while  the  singing  from  the  audience,  or  spectators,  who 
stood  on  the  shore,  was  very  impressive.  The  people  would 
follow  me  from  one  place  to  another  as  I went  to  preach,  most 
of  them  riding  on  horses,  and  some  walking  with  me,  but  all 
of  us  going  along  together.  On  one  of  the.se  walks  we  stop- 
ped at  a most  beautiful  place  where  a stream  ran  along  beside 
our  road;  and  I baptized  eighteen  young  men.  I preached  a 
good  deal  deal  at  McKee,  in  Jackson  County.  The  only  ve- 
hicle of  any  description  that  I ever  saw  come  into  that  town 
was  a wagon  driven  by  a girl,  and  drawn  by  one  ox  that  had 
gear  made  of  hickory  bark.  Long  before  I got  to  the  home 
of  Frederick  Lynx  some  persons  had  expressed  a desire  to  see 
us  together  and  hear  us  talk.  “Old  Brother  Lynx,’’  as 
everybody  called  him,  was  a German,  about  70  years  old, 
when  I first  saw  him.  He  was  below  medium  height,  but 
otherwise  was  tremendously  strong  in  his  build.  When  he 
was  a young  man  his  passage  to  this  country  had  been  paid 
by  General  Garrard,  and  Brother  Lynx  had  begun  to  work  for 
Gen.  Garrard  to  pay  his  passage,  and  had  continued  to  work 
for  him  for  years.  Gen.  Garrard,  was,  all  his  life,  an  infidel, 
and  Brother  Lynx  had  been  an  infidel  until  only  a few  }'ears 
before  I first  saw  him,  when  he  had  become  a most  enthu- 
siastic Christian  of  the  denomination  to  which  I belonged. 
When  I got  to  the  home  of  Brother  Lynx  only  Overton  Azbill 
was  with  me.  Brother  Lynx  was  unusually  active  for  one  of 
his  age,  and  was  enthusiastic  on  meeting  me.  He  was  an  en- 
thusiastic “Union’’  man,  and  at  once  expressed  a hope  that  I 
was  the  same.  I told  him  that  I took  no  part  in  politics,  and 
was  merely  a private  soldier  under  a flag  with  a cross  on  it, 
and  the  old  man  never,  afterwards,  .said  anything  to  me  about 
politics.  His  German  brogue  was  very  funny.  As  we  walked 
up  on  the  path  to  his  house,  which  was  considerably  better 
than  the  average  mountain  home,  he  stopped  me  and  said  he 
wanted  to  warn  me  before  I went  into  his  house  about  men- 
tioning the  subject  of  religion  to  his  wife.  He  said  she  was 
an  infidel,  and  would  be  very  kind  to  me  if  I said  nothing 
about  religion  to  her,  but  that  if  I ever  said  anything  to  her 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


85 

in  favor  of  religion  she  would  give  me  a tongue  lashing  that 
I would  never  forget.  I received  a great  deal  of  ho.spitality 
at  that  home,  and  “Sister  L3mx,”  as  I called  her,  did  all  she 
could  for  my  comfort  and  happiness,  but  no  word  about  re- 
ligion ever  passed  between  us.  They  had  a family  of  unmar- 
ried daughters  who  lived  with  their  parents,  and  two  married 
sons,  who  were  well-to-do  and  respected,  who  lived  at  their 
homes  near  by.  The  daughters  were  religious  like  the  father. 
The  wives  of  the  sons  were  religious  also,  but  the  sons  com- 
bined the  father  and  mother  in  their  views.  They  would  go 
to  church,  but  would  never  become  members  of  the  church- 
It  seemed  to  be  thought,  and  hoped,  especially  by  old  Brother 
Lynx,  that  I would  convert  his  sons  to  the  Christian  religion, 
but  I never  could  do  it,  though  I made  a special  effort  to  do 
so.  The  sons  would  follow  me  to  hear  me  preach,  but  more 
than  this  in  a religious  line  they  would  never  do. 

Old  Sister  Lynx  never  put  her  foot  inside  of  any  church. 
When  we  would  have  family  worship,  at  night,  the  girls 
would  hand  hymn  books  to  everybody  but  the  mother,  and 
she  would  light  her  pipe  and  .sit  by  the  fire-place  and  smoke 
through  the  whole  service.  And  yet,  when  her  husband  and 
daughters  would  be  getting  ready  to  follow  me  a long  distance 
from  their  home.  Sister  Lynx  would  cheerfully  do  all  she 
could  to  a.ssist  them.  Brother  Lynx  always  called  me  “Brud- 
der  Mo.’’  He  was  famous  as  a stor}^  teller,  all  of  which  were 
of  his  personal  experiences,  and  they  were  made  funnier  by 
his  brogue.  He  was  grave  but  had  a high  sense  of  the  ridicu- 
lous, though  I never  heard  him  laugh.  He  would  only  tell 
his  stories  when  specially  asked  to  do  so,  and,  though  he 
rather  protested  against  it,  Overton  Azbill  made  him  tell  me  a 
number  of  them.  I am  a poor  stor}'^  teller  under  favorable 
circumstances  even,  and  of  course,  do  not  feel  verj^  jovial 
where  I am.  I will,  therefore,  simply  give  you  an  outline  of 
the  facts  in  Brother  Lynx’s  “salt-house  key’’  story. 

General  Garrard  lived  near  Manchester,  Ky.,  and  made  a 
fine  fortune  by  making  salt  at  the  Goose  creek  salt  works. 
He  was  so  much  pleased  with  “Fred,’’  as  he  always  called  old 
Brother  Lynx,  that  soon  after  Fred  got  to  the  General’s  place, 


86 


BEHIND  THE  BARS,  31498. 


he  made  Fred  his  foreman,  and  Fred  alwa5^s  carried  the  key 
of  the  big  salt  warehouse  in  his  pocket.  In  those  days,  and 
only  somewhat  less  when  I was  there,  in  every  neighborhood 
there  was  a bully  who,  it  was  generally  conceded,  could  whip 
anybody,  and  who  wore  the  distinction  with  the  same  pride 
that  a prize  fighter  now  wears  the  champion’s  belt.  In  those 
days  it  was  an  individual  affair,  and  was  fought  to  a finish 
with  fists.  In  these  days  it  has  grown  into  the  feuds  and 
Winchester  rifle  killings,  for  which  the  mountains  of  Ken- 
tucky are  famous.  In  the  young  days  of  Brother  Lynx  ever}" 
man  who  came  into  that  country  had  to  acknowledge  a fealty 
to  the  reigning  local  bully,  or  get  whipped  by  him — a sort  of 
a remnant  of  English  feudalism.  Brother  Lynx  was  an  un- 
usually quiet  and  inoffensive  man,  naturally,  but  he  was  un- 
willing to  recognize  this  peculiar  custom  of  his  mountain 
country.  He  was  invited  to  a “corn  shucking.’’  The  corn 
with  the  “shucks’’  on  it  was  put  up  in  piles  of  equal  size,  and 
a gallon  of  whisky  was  given  to  the  man  who  first  shucked 
out  his  pile.  The  neighborhood  bully  had  been  seeking  an 
excuse  to  get  into  a fight  with  Brother  Lynx,  and,  so,  took  a 
pile  next  to  that  of  Brother  Lynx.  At  a given  .signal  all 
commenced  shucking,  and  in  a minute  the  bully  threw  an  un- 
shucked ear  off  of  his  own  pile  onto  the  pile  of  Brother 
Lynx.  Brother  Lynx  saw  it,  but  said  nothing.  In  another 
minute  the  bully  threw  another  unshucked  ear  from  his  own 
pile  onto  Brother  Lynx’s  pile.  Brother  Lynx  said  “Don’t 
yer  do  dot  no  mo.’’  Then  the  bully  threw  another  un- 
shucked ear  on  Brother  Lynx’s  pile,  and  Brother  Lynx  started 
to  get  up.  The  bully  was  on  the  alert  and  was  on  his  feet 
before  Brother  Lynx,  was,  and  knocked  Brother  Lynx  down 
before  he  was  fairly  on  his  feet,  and  jumped  on  top  of  him 
and  so  beat  him  in  the  face  and  head  that  Brother  Lynx 
thought  the  man  would  kill  him.  By  the  laws  of  that 
country  when  a man  hollered  “Nuff,  miff,’’  the  man  who  was 
whipping  him  had  to  quit.  Brother  Lynx  wanted  to  holler 
“Nuff,’’  but  in  his  scant  acquaintance  with  the  English  lan- 
guage he  forgot  the  word,  and,  by  mistake,  hollered  “Hurra, 
hurra.’’  The  man  who  was  beating  him  thought  it  meant 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


87 


defiance,  and  the  crowd  thought  it  meant  pluck.  Brother 
Lynx  could  not  explain,  and  the  man  was  still  beating  him 
unmercifully.  Brother  Lynx  got  his  hand  into  his  breeches 
pocket  and  got  his  thumb  through  the  ring  of  the  salt-house 
key,  closing  the  balance  of  the  key  in  his  fist,  so  that  the 
point  of  - the  key  stuck  out  through  one  side  of  his  fist. 
Brother  Lynx  got  his  fist  out  of  his  pocket  with  the  key  in 
his  fist,  and  he  said,  “Brudder  Mo,  efry  time  I hit  dot  man 
in  the  face  de  blood  jes  fly,  and  he  holler  ‘Nuff,  nuff, ’ and  de 
udder  boys  dey  stop  me,  but  none  uv  em  effer  did  know  I git 
dot  salt-house  key,  and  Brudder  Mo,  I neffer  forgit  dot  wurt, 
Nuff,  no  mo.” 

Another  of  his  funny  stories  was  his  curing  of  a man 
who,  for  years,  had  been  reported  to  be  insane,  and  who,  for 
years,  had  never  been  known  to  speak  a word.  He  was  a 
big,  strong  man,  and  Brother  Lynx  thought  he  was  affecting 
insanity  to  get  rid  of  working.  Brother  Lynx  caught  the 
man  and  told  him  he  was  going  to  whip  him  if  he  did  not 
talk,  and  the  man  did  talk,  and  promi.sed  Brother  Lynx  that 
he  would  go  to  wo^k.  and  did  so,  and  was  healed  of  his  years 
of  “insanity.”  Brother  Lynx’s  admiration  of  Gen,  Garrard 
amounted  almost  to  adoration,  and  he  was  very  anxious  that 
I should  convert  Gen.  Garrard  to  Christianity.  Old  Sister 
Lynx  was  the  first  person  I ever  met  who  was  said  to  be  an 
infidel,  except  one  student  at  Bethany,  who  was  the  son  of  a 
preachei.  I had  never  mentioned  the  subject  to  that  student.. 
He  was  a boy  of  strong  mind,  but  was  morose,  it  seemed  to 
me,  and  did  not  affiliate  with  me.  Brother  Lynx  and  several 
others  went  with  me  to  see  Gen.  Garrard.  He  was,  in  all  re- 
spects, by  far  the  mo.st  influential  man  in  his  country,  His 
sjunpathies  and  his  talk  were  all  for  the  Confederates,  while 
everybody  around  him  were  ultra  Union  people,  but  the  old 
man  had  so  many  children  and  grand-children  who  reverenced 
him  that  the  authorities  did  not  dare  to  arrest  him.  His  son 
had  been  Treasurer  of  Kentucky,  and  was  then  a Colonel  in 
the  Federal  army.  In  a community  where  everybody  else 
dressed  in  plain,  rough  style  and  had  the  ordinary  manners  of 
mountaineers,  old  Gen.  Garrard  dressed  in  elegant  taste,  and 


88 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


was  an  elegant  gentleman.  He  was  just  the  soul  of  hospi- 
tality to  me.  He  never  said  anything  about  his  infidel  views 
until  some  one  expressed  a desire  to  hear  them,  and  then  he 
gave  them  very  firmly  and  tersely  and  clearly  and  very  mod- 
estly. I was,  all  the  more  anxious  to  hear  him  talk  on  the 
subject,  and  repeatedly  induced  him  to  do  so.  His  reasoning 
made  its  impression  upon  me.  Ingersoll  then  had  never  been 
heard  of,  and  I found,  only  a very  little  to  my  surprise, 
and  a great  deal  to  my  gratification,  that  an  infidel  was  not 
necessarily  the  repulsive  kind  of  a character  that  I had  been 
taught  to  believe  he  was.  I had  seen  that  old  Sister  Lynx 
was  a kind-hearted,  self-sacrificing  woman,  but  she  was  igno- 
rant and  smoked  a pipe,  and  she  did  not  so  favorably  impress 
me  with  infidelity  as  old  Gen.  Garrard  did.  In  my  political 
views  I was  opposed  to  .slavery,  but  old  Gen.  Garrard  dis- 
covered, without  my  telling  him  so,  that  my  sympathies  and 
prejudices  were  with  the  South.  He  soon  became  much 
attached  to  me.  I would  preach  in  the  court  house  in  Man 
Chester,  and  the  old  General  would  not  only  come  to  hear  me 
every  time,  but  he  would  bring  a chair  and  sit  right  by  my 
side  while  I was  preaching,  and  listen  in  a manner  of  the 
deepest  respect  from  the  first  to  the  last  of  my  sermon.  I 
could  see  that  old  Brother  Lynx,  who,  with  his  daughters,  had 
followed  me  that  distance  from  their  home,  would  anxiou-sly 
watch  the  old  General  all  the  time  to  .see  what  effect  my  ser- 
mons were  having  upon  him. 

One  day  1 asked  the  old  General  why  it  was  that,  with 
his  religious  views,  he  so  often  came  to  hear  me  preach  when 
I passed  through  his  town.  He  said:  “I  always  enjoy  hear- 
ing any  man  rea.son,  on  any  important  subject.”  The  old 
General,  not  long  before  I first  saw  him,  had  married,  as  his 
second  wife,  a lad}^  about  30  }'ears  old,  who  was  one  of  the 
most  magnificent  looking  women  I ever  saw,  and  a more  de- 
voted couple  I never  saw,  in  the  stately  old-school  dignity 
that  I had  seen  in  my  father  toward  my  mother,  I supposed 
that  Mrs.  Garrard  was  of  the  same  religious  opinions  as  her 
husband;  but  one  day,  as  I was  preaching  in  the  court  hou.se, 
she  and  others  arose  from  the  audience  and  came  forward  to 


BEHIND  THE  BAES;  31498. 


89 


signify  their  desire  to  become  members  of  the  church.  The 
baptismal  scene,  when  I baptized  them  at  a beautiful  place  in 
a most  beautiful  stream,  was  the  prettiest  one  I ever  wit- 
nessed. Mrs.  Garrard  was  tall  and  the  personification  of 
grace,  and  when  .she  came  down  to  the  edge  of  the  water, 
gracefully  dressed  for  the  occasion,  the  old  General  led  her  as 
gallantly  and  gracefully  as  he  led  her  to  the  marriage  altar, 
and  so  received  her  again  when  I led  her  to  the  bank  of  the 
stream.  Old  Brother  Lynx  was  a great  singer  and  was  always 
the  leader  of  the  singing  when  he  was  with  me,  and  on  this 
occasion  he  sang  like  one  in.spired,  and  as  their  voices  blended 
and  rang  through  the  mountain  gorges  and  over  the  bright 
and  shaded  surface  of  the  pretty  water,  there  was  in  that 
music  something  more  nearly  seraphic  than  anything  I have 
ever  heard  from  the  paid  choirs  and  thundering  organs  of 
great  city  churches  and  cathedrals. 

One  day  as  I was  walking  up  to  the  court  house  door,  in 
Manchester,  to  preach,  I saw  one  of  the  most  beautiful  crea- 
trues  I have  ever  seen.  To  me  beautiful  women  are  the  most 
beautiful  of  all  nature’s  handiwork,  and  sometimes  there  are 
female  faces  that  appear  beautiful  to  me  not  so  much  from 
their  own  symmetry  as  from  qualities  of  head  or  heart  that  I 
know  their  owners  to  possess.  I frequently  think  of  Burns’ 
lines, 

“He  tried  on  ]iian  his  ’prentice  hand. 

And  then  he  made  the  lassies,  0;” 

And  of  Ingersoll’s  suggestion  that  “When  God  made 
woman  out  a bone,  considering  the  raw  material  that  he  had, 
it  was  the  best  job  he  ever  did.’’ 

That  girl  I saw  at  Manchester  was  about  i8  years  old, 
and  I was  about  22.  She  was  walking,  bare-headed,  and  she 
was  coming  in  a narrow  foot-path,  so  that  she  would  cross  at 
right  angles,  a path  of  the  same  kind  in  which  I was  walking, 
just  about  the  time  we  would  get  to  the  intersection  of  the 
paths.  She  wore  a common  calico  dress.  She  was  enchant-  - 
ingly  beautiful.  She  was  more  like  Bettie  Herndon  than  any 
girl  I had  ever  seen,  but  the  difference  was,  that  while  Bet- 


90 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


tie’s  beauty  appealed  to  your  appreciatiou,  this  mountain 
girl’s  beauty  commanded  your  admiration.  It  was  a case  of 
‘‘beauty  unadorned.”  She  could  not  have  expected  to  im- 
press any  man  in  so  artless  a costume,  but  to  my  eye,  trained 
to  love  nature,  there  was  in  her  simple  dress  suggestions  of 
grace  that  are  not  to  be  found  in  any  of  the  artifices  of  the 
modi.ste.  She  was  so  rapturously  beautiful  that,  in  a second, 
I had  almost  determined  to  apologize  for  stopping  her,  and 
asking  her  name,  and  asking  if  I might  call  to  see  her;  and 
then  I thought  that  she  was  pos.sibly  not  educated  up  to  the 
standard  that  I would  want  in  a woman,  and  thought  even  if 
I could  induce  her  to  marry  me,  it  would  conflict  with  my 
resolution  to  devote  my  life  exclusively  to  religion,  and  then  I 
remembered  all  the  suffering  that  I was  still  enduring  from 
one  love  affair,  and  though  the  beautiful  girl  and  I would 
necessarily  come  within  a few  feet  of  each  other,  as  we  fol- 
lowed our  crossing  paths,  and  I wanted  to  see  her  face  at  the 
shortest  possible  distance,  when  I was  very  close  to  her,  I 
never  looked  at  her,  and  have  never  known  any  more  about 
her  than  what  I have  told  you. 

One  of  the  best  friends  I had  was  a woman  who  had  two 
pretty,  unmarried  daughters,  about  i8  and  20  years  old.  I 
do  not  remember  their  name,  and,  though  you  may  think  it 
strange,  I cannot  remember  whether  there  were  any  male  per- 
sons who  stayed  in  the  house.  The  house  was  in  a secluded 
place  in  the  mountain  wilderness.  I got  to  it  one  night  a lit- 
tle before  supper  time,  when  it  was  very  dark  and  pouring 
down  rain,  and  I was  thoroughly  wet.  There  was  only  one 
room  to  the  house,  but  the  woods  were  full  of  pine  knots, 
and  there  was,  soon,  roaring  for  me,  such  a fire  as  only  pine 
knots  can  make,  and  beside  which  coal  and  gas,  natural  or 
artificial,  ‘‘pale  their  ineffectual  fires  ” If  there  was  any 
man  on  the  premises  I do  not  now  recollect  it.  It  was  in  the 
fall  and  the  nights  were  very  long.  There  was  an  immense 
fire-place,  half  as  broad  as  one  side  of  the  house.  They  were 
all  engaged  in  cooking  our  supper  of  very  simple  and  very 
few  materials,  but  when  they  set  it  on  the  table  it  was  one  of 
the  mo.st  delicious  meals  that  I have  ever  eaten,  and  I have 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  ; 31498. 


91 


eaten  at  Delmonico’s  in  New  York,  and  paid  $5.00  in  gold  for 
a single  meal  in  Europe. 

In  all  cases  like  that  I always  got  the  wood  and  did  any- 
thing I could  to  help.  I had  done  a good  deal  of  surreptitious 
cooking  at  Bethany,  and  was  not  so  utterly  ignorant  of  the 
art  as  was  King  Alfred  in  the  neatherd’s  cottage. 

“We  may  live  without  friends  ; we  may  live  without  books  ; 

But  the  civilized  man  cannot  live  without  cooks.” 

At  Bethany  I remembered  the  principle  of  the  ancient 
spits  in  old  Mrs.  Breckinridge’s  kitchen,  and  hanging  a 
dressed  turkey,  by  a string  before  my  hot  coal  fire,  in  the  lit- 
tle cottage  that  I had,  my  last  college  year,  all  to  myself,  I 
could  cook  it  literally  “to  a turn,’’  as  it  turned  itself  on  a 
string.  While  those  mountain  lassies  knew  but  little  in 
books,  and  less  of  the  great  fashionable  world,  they  all  had 
strong  natural  minds,  kind  hearts,  and  healthy  bodies,  and  as 
I sat  there  and  they  and  I watched  the  steam  rise  from  my 
wet  clothes,  and  the  smell  from  the  boiling  and  frying  and 
baking  of  our  supper  whetted  our  appetites,  and  we  talked 
about  funny  things  and  religious  things,  all  together,  and 
laughed  and  sang  hymns  alternately,  and  then,  at  late  bed- 
time, all  kneeled  together  before  that  grand  fire,  and  while  I 
prayed  for  us  all,  it  seemed  to  me  that,  somehow,  a strange 
Providence  that 

“Moves  in  a mysterious  way  his  wonders  to  perfonn,” 

had,  for  some  strange  purpose,  led  me  through  the  mazes  of 
only  an  outline  of  which  I have  been  able  to  give  you  t^  bring 
me  to  such  happine  s as  I now  felt  that  seemed  to  me,  in  some 
senses,  greater  than  any  I had  ever  experienced.  There  were 
only  two  beds  in  the  room,  and  we  all  had  to  sleep  in  that 
one  room.  When  the  time  came,  in  which,  without  any  spe- 
cial mention  of  the  matter,  it  came  to  be  understood  that  we 
were  all  to  go  to  bed,  the  ladies  left  the  room  by  going  out  of 
doors,  after  having  told  me  that  the  better  of  the  two  beds 
was  for  me,  and  I undressed  at  my  leisure  and  was  in  bed  and 
soon  asleep,  and  ab.solutely  unconscious  that  I was  living,  un- 
til I awoke  next  morning  and  saw  that  the  other  bed  was  all 


92 


BEHIND  THE  BAES;  31498. 


nicelj'^  made  up,  and  breakfast  was  nearl}^  ready.  When  they 
saw  that  I u'as  awake  they  all  went  out  of  the  room  again, 
and  came  in  when  I had  dressed,  and  by  the  time  I could  go 
down  to  the  branch  and  wash  my  face  and  hand  , and  come 
back,  breakfast  was  ready. 

I learned  once  that  away  across  the  mountains,  about  ten 
miles  from  where  I was,  there  was  a man  of  whom  it  was  said 
that  he  did  not  believe  the  Bible  was  true.  I had  a great  cu- 
riosity to  see  him,  and  know  about  him,  and  I got  all  the  in- 
formation that  I could  about  him.  They  said  he  was  a good 
citizen  and  an  industrious  man,  and  that,  although  he  was 
poor,  he  had  quite  a library.  I determined  to  go  to  see  him, 
and  arranged  to  take  a day  or  two  off,  in  my  preaching,  in 
order  to  do  so.  I came  up  to  a little  shop  that  he  had  in 
front  of  his  house  just  as  his  wife  called  him  to  dinner.  I 
told  him  my  name  and  that  I was  a preacher,  and  he  gave  me 
a most  hospitable  invitation  to  dinner,  which  I accepted.  I 
found  him  making  cedar  buckets,  and  I expressed  to  him  my 
surprise  that  such  pretty  work  could  be  done  with  such  .sim- 
ple appliances.  I said  that  I was  sorr}^  I had  not  gotten  there 
in  time  to  se;  him  make  one  before  we  went  to  dinner.  He 
said  he  would  make  me  one  right  then,  and  in  about  fifteen 
minutes  he  made  a pretty  cedar  bucket.  He  was  a nice  look- 
ing man  of  about  30  years  age,  and  he  introduced  me  to  his 
wife  and  his  two  little  tots  of  children.  The  house  had  but 
one  room.  The  wife  had  evidently  seen,  from  her  house,  that 
she  was  going  to  have  company  for  dinner,  and  she  was  all 
sweetly  dres.sed  in  her  plain,  but  neat,  best  dre.ss,  and  there 
were  preserves  on  the  table  that  had  the  general  appearance 
of  being  held  in  reservation  for  company.  He  showed  me  his 
library,  and  I found  it  to  be  well  selected.  Everything  about 
the  little  cabin  was  neat  and  clean,  and  my  stay  there  was 
the  greatest  intellectual  feast  that  I have  ever  had  in  the 
mountains.  His  wife  was  a sweet  little  woman  and  seemed 
happy  that  somebody  had  come  along  who  could  appreciate 
her  husband.  I had  heard  much  of  “love  in  a cottage,’’  and 
it  seemed  to  me  that  here  was  the  most  beautiful  instance  of 
it  I had  ever  seen.  The  man  and  his  wife  seemed  to  think 


BEHIND  THE  BANS  ; 31498. 


93 


they  were  naturally  cut  off  from  the  .societ}-  of  their  neigh- 
bors, by  reason  of  their  difference  in  religious  views,  and 
he  was  there  making  his  living  by  a nice,  clean  work  that 
seemed  no  harder  to  him  than  whittling  a nice  cedar  stick  with 
a sharp  knife. 

Many  of  the  people  of  that  countr}-  made  the  better  part 
of  their  livings  by  hunting  ginseng  that  grows  wild  in  the 
mountains.  They  call  it  “sang,”  and  going  out  to  hunt  gin- 
seng the}'  all  call  “goin’  out  a sangin’.”  They  were  very 
anxious  to  know  of  me  what  was  done  with  it,  as  they  did 
not  use  it  for  anything,  and  all  that  I could  tell  them  about  it 
was  that  it  was  sent  to  China.  The  greater  part  of  all  this 
time  the  war  was  going  on,  and  there  were  spies  and  deep- 
laid  schemes  for  aiding  and  abetting  the  opposing  sides  by 
their  respective  friends.  There  were  some  who  thought  that 
my  whole  preaching  and  traveling  and  living  as  I was,  was  all 
a part  of  a plan  by  which  I was  conveying  intelligence  to  the 
Confederate  army,  and  one  day  I was  arrested  at  Barbours- 
ville,  Kentucky,  by  the  Federal  authorities  and  sent  out  of 
the  mountains  under  the  escort  of  a cavalr}'  .soldier.  I soon 
returned  to  my  preaching  in  the  mountains,  however.  One 
day,  during  my  preaching,  my  audience  and  I could  hear  a 
battle  going  on,  seven  miles  from  us.  We  heard  the  inces- 
sant rattle  of  musketry  and  regular  boom  of  cannon  during 
the  whole  service,  but  it  never  interrupted  my  audience  or  me. 
We  were  on  the  north  side  of  the  road  running  from  Cumber- 
land Gap,  in  the  eastern  extremity  of  the  State,  west,  to  Lex- 
ington, and  I knew  that  the  Federal  troops  had  marched  from 
Lexington  to  meet  the  Confederates,  who  were  marching 
from  Cumberland  Gap  toward  Lexington,  and  I knew  that 
they  must  have  met  where  we  could  hear  the  battle  going  on. 
I knew  that  the  Confederates  were  regularly  driving  the  Fed- 
erals  back,  because,  although  the  firing  was  kept  up  continu- 
ally, I could  hear  that  it  was  regularl}^  west,  which  was 

toward  Lexington,  and  that,  therefore,  the  Federals  were  re- 
treating and  the  Confederates  were  following  them.  I knew 
that  the  Confederates  were  going  on  to  Lexington,  and  be- 
lieving that  my  widowed  mother  would  be  uneasj^  about  me. 


94 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


I started  my  march  for  home.  By  that  time  I had  spent  two 
and  a half  years  in  preaching,  marching  afoot  through  sum- 
mer’s heat  and  winter’s  cold  and  snow,  and  having  such  ex- 
periences as  I have  given  you  samples  of.  I follow^ed  along 
behind  the  two  armies.  They  had  fought  all  along  through 
Richmond,  and  all  along  the  road  where  Bessie  and  I and  our 
sisters  had  ridden  in  the  stage,  and  when  I got  to  Bexington 
the  towm  was  flooded  with  Confederate  .soldiers,  and  they  were 
lying  asleep  and  resting  from  their  fight,  almost  everywhere 
that  they  could  drop  down  on  the  ground,  and  the  people 
were  bringing  them  hot  coffee  and  food.  The  University 
building  that  is  now  standing,  and  another  University  build- 
ing, that  stood  at  the  corner  of  North  Broadway  and  Second 
.street,  which  was  soon  after  burned  b}^  the  soldiers,  were  both 
converted  into  hospitals. 

Kirby  Smith,  the  Confederate  General  commanding,  was 
an  Epi.scopalian,  and  conducted  the  Episcopal  service  in  what 
is  now  the  Episcopal  cathedral.  Wlien  I got  to  my  home, 
eight  miles  from  Eexington,  I found  there  a Confederate  sol- 
dier named  William  J.  Hatch.  He  was  about  22  years  old, 
and  had  been  cut  off  from  his  command,  which  was  defeated 
in  a battle  at  Pea  Ridge,  Arkansas,  and  he  had  come  to  Ken- 
tucky to  go  into  the  Confederate  army  again.  He  was  my 
distant  kinsman,  though  I had  never  heard  of  him  before. 
His  father  was  the  President  of  the  Universit}^  of  Mi.ssouri  at 
Canton.  Young  Hatch  was  at  that  time  by  far  the  most 
scholarly  young  man  with  whom  I had  ever  met.  He  looked 
through  my  library  and  got,  among  other  books,  Plato’s 
“Gorgias,”  in  its  original  Greek,  as  a part  of  his  literary  en- 
tertainment. Though  he  did  not  show  much  disposition  to 
ventilate  his  religious  opinions,  my  experiences  with  infidels 
made  me  anxious  to  know  what  so  learned  a young  man 
thought  about  religion.  I soon  found  that  he  was  skeptical. 
I had  never  heard  or  read  any  argument  against  the  Chris- 
tian religion.  Once  in  my  preaching  in  the  mountains  I had 
noticed,  as  I have  told  you,  that  when  the  people  listened  to 
me  talk  about  history  and  science,  in  their  families,  they  lis- 
tened with  an  interest  that  seemed  greater  and  more  natural 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


95 


than  when  they  listened  to  my  sermons  in  which  I made  such 
arguments  for  Christianit}^  as  we  have  in  “Butler’s  Analog}'” 
and  “Pale}'’s  Evidences;”  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  if  I would 
just  collate  all  the  evidences  of  the  truth  of  the  Christian  re- 
ligion that  were  to  be  found  outside  of  the  Bible  and  deliver 
them  to  the  people  in  my  sermons,  just  as  I did  .science  and 
history  in  my  famil}"  circle  talks,  I would  attract  a new  inter- 
est in  the  Christian  religion,  and,  in  order  to  prepare  myself 
for  'argument  of  this  kind,  I quit  my  preaching  long  enough 
to  go  home,  and,  from  my  books,  get  all  the  information  I 
could  in  this  line.  I devoted  probably  two  weeks  to  this  re- 
search, and  found  so  little  evidence  of  the  truth  of  the  Bible 
from  what  are  called  the  ‘ ‘external’  ’ evidences,  that  I was 
surprised  and  greatly  impressed  by  the  fact.  I determined  to 
embody  all  I had  learned  in  this  way,  in  a sermon,  and  did  so. 
I delivered  the  sermon,  but  the  people  who  listened  to  me  did 
not  seem  to  feel  the  force  of  m}'  arguments,  and  I felt  that  I 
could  not  blame  them  for  not  doing  so,  because  they  seemed 
to  me  to  be  open  to  many  objections,  and  I never  again  at- 
tempted any  argument  on  that  line.  This  experience  had  so 
impressed  me  that  when  I found  out  the  views  of  young 
Hatch  I proposed  to  him  that  we  should  supply  ourselves 
with  books  for  and  against  the  Christian  religion,  and  study 
them  together  carefully.  We  began  the  investigation,  and, 
for  six  weeks,  ten  or  twelve  hours  a day,  out  under  the  shade 
trees  at  my  home,  we  studied,  from  both  sides,  the  question 
of  religion.  The  first  book  we  read,  which  was  then  new, 
was  by  Colenso,  Bishop  of  the  English  church  at  Natal,  in 
Africa.  It  was  against  the  authenticity  and  genitineness  of 
the  Pentateuch.  It  made,  in  a very  dignified  and  learned 
way,  all  the  arguments  that  lugersoll  has  since  made  in  a 
ridiculous  and  funny  way,  in  his  “Mistakes  of  Moses,”  and  it 
is  almost  certain  that  IngersoU  got  the  suggestion  for  the 
most  famous  of  all  his  lectures  from  this  book  of  Bishop 
Colenso,  though  all  of  the  Colenso-Ingersoll  “Mistakes  of 
Moses”  are  ju.st  such  as  occur  to  anyone  who  reads  the  Pen- 
tateuch carefully  and  intelligently  and  free  from  religious  bias. 
Colenso  repudiated  the  Old  Testament  and  still  held  his  posi- 
tion as  Bishop,  preaching  the  New  Testament. 


BEHIND  THE  BABS  ; 3l49g. 


% 

Hatch  and  I then  read,  in  the  same  way,  a number  of 
learned  orthodox  replies  to  Colenso.  Of  these  replies  five 
were  written  by  English  clergymen,  under  the  special  auspices 
of  the  English  church.  At  the  end  of  six  weeks  I went  into 
a long  and  dangerous  spell  of  fever,  as  my  two  phj^sicians 
called  it  then,  I .suppose  it  would  now  be  called  “nervous 
prostration,”  .superinduced  by  long  and  close  study,  with 
what  then  appeared  to  me  would  be  disastrous  consequences. 
I lay  in  bed  for  w^eeks,  not  sick,  as  far  as  I could  see,  except 
that  I could  not  sleep,  and  was  so  weak,  con.sequently, 
that  I could  not  walk.  Hatch  and  I never  di.scu.s.sed  what  ef- 
fect the  investigation  had  upon  us,  but  .so  far  as  I was  con- 
cerned, it  had  overthrown  m3'  faith  in  the  inerrancy  of  the 
Old  Te.stament,  and  I determined  to  do  as  Colenso  had  done — 
discard  the  Old  Testament  and  preach  only  the  New  Te.sta- 
ment. My  mother  was  afraid  for  me  to  go  back  to  the  moun- 
tains and  wanted  me  to  stay  near  her,  and  I accepted  a posi- 
tion as  the  regular  pa.stor  of  a church  at  Vensailles,  Ky., 
about  twenty  miles  from  where  I lived.  I went  to  that 
church,  and  with  what  occurred  there  I will  begin 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


97 


CHAPTER  V. 

\'ersailles  was  then  a pretty  town  of  four  or  five  thousand 
people,  twelve  miles  west  of  Lexington,  and  in  one  of  the 
finest  parts  of  the  famous  “Blue  Grass  Region,’’  and  to  which 
there  ran  from  Lexington  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  the 
famous  Kentucky  turnpikes.  It  then  had  no  railroads,  as  it 
has  now.  Vensailles  was  and  is  the  home  of  Thomas  F.  Mar- 
shall and  Senator  J.  C.  S.  Blackburn.  All  of  the  prominent 
churches  were  represented  in  the  town,  and  the  one  of  which 
I had  charge  was  the  largest.  I had  the  largest  congregation 
of  any  church  there,  having  beside  my  regular  congregation, 
which  was  larger  than  any  of  the  others,  as  the  regular  at- 
tendants of  my  church,  a fine  female  college  of  as  beautiful 
girls  as  the  world  ever  saw.  Of  m}'  younger  two  sisters,  of 
whom  I have  told  you,  Alice  was  at  that  college  at  Versailles, 
and  died  when  I was  in  Europe,  and  Jennie  graduated,  with 
the  first  honor,  at  Daughter.s’  College,  Harrodsburg,  Ky., 
married  Lieutenant-Governor  of  Kentucky  James  E.  Cantrill, 
and  died  young.  Her  husband  had  been  a Captain  in  the 
Confederate  army. 

At  Versailles,  though  I was  the  poorest  of  the  preacher 
orators  in  the  town,  I was  the  most  popular  preacher.  I made 
some  interesting  acquaintances  there.  William  J.  Hatch,  the 
young  Infidel  Confederate  soldier,  with  whom  I had  examined 
the  evidences  of  Christianity,  came  frequently  to  hear  me 
preach.  One  day  we  went  out  into  the  woods  and  discussed 
religion,  and  I advised  him  to  become  a Christian.  He  joined 
my  church  and  I baptized  him.  He  died  a few  years  after- 
ward, then  employed  by  the  Government  as  an  engineer  of 
Mississippi  levees.  As  soon  as  I got  to  Versailles  I was  met 
by  a 3"oung  man  who  was  afterward  Judge  Dick  Reid  of  the 
Court  of  Appeals  of  the  State  of  Kentucky.  He  met  me  as 
if  he  knew  me  familiarly,  and  expected  me  to  know  him,  but 
I did  not.  He  said  he  knew  about  me  every  wajy  and, 
among  others,  through  a Bethanj'  College  magazine,  and 
through  his  brother,  who  was  m}'  college  companion.  I re- 
membered, after  awhile,  that  I had  heard  of  Dick  Reid  as  the 


98 


BEHIND  THE  BANS,  31498. 


first-honor  man  at  Georgetown  College.  He  said  he  wanted 
me  to  ro.>m  with  him,  and  that  he  had  the  nicest  place  in 
town  to  room.  I accepted  his  proposition  and  we  roomed  to- 
gether as  long  as  I lived  in  Versailles.  Dick  Reid  was  one  of 
the  most  interesting  characters  I ever  knew.  He  was  then 
about  my  age — 24.  He  was  quite  hand.some,  of  fine,  large 
figure,  and  of  perfect  health.  He  had  a fine  fortune,  and  was 
of  a fine  family,  and  was,  theoretically  and  practically,  one  of 
the  pure,st  of  moralists  I had  ever  known.  He  had  won  the 
honors  at  his  college,  and  was  then  beginning  the  practice  of 
law.  He  was  devoutly  pious,  and  every  night,  he  and  I,  in 
our  room,  had  a Bible  reading  and  prayer.  He  was  very 
jovial  and  was  a fine  talker,  with  an  acute  sense  of  the  ridicu- 
lous. He  was  always  ready  to  take  any  part  that  I would 
assign  him,  in  the  services  at  the  church,  only  asking  that  I 
would  notify  him  the  day  before  of  my  purpose  to  call  on 
him.  His  memory  was  the  most  remarkable  I ever  knew. 
He  wrote  very  rapidl3^  and  very  beautifully.  He  would  write 
every  word  of  what  he  intended  to  say  in  church,  throw 
away  the  manuscript  after  having  .scarcely  read  it  once,  and 
then  when  I called  on  him  he  would  repeat,  without  a .second’s 
hesitation,  exactly  what  he  had  written,  but  with  no  genius 
in  his  deliver}',  and  with  such  embarrassment  that  unwiped 
drops  of  sweat  would  stand  on  his  face,  at  any  season.  But 
what  he  said  was  .splendid.  Over  the  whole  of  Dick  Reid’s 
life  hung  perpetually  a kind  of  autumnal  halo  of  sadness. 
This  was  the  result  of  the  fact  that  he  had  gone  to  Mi.ssouri 
to  marry  Mi.ss  Linda  Jameson,  and  when  he  got  to  her  home 
found  her  in  her  coffin,  in  the  elegant  bridal  robes  in  which 
she  was  to  have  married  him.  Dick  and  I talked  much,  in 
our  room  alone,  on  every  subject  bearing  upon  morals.  He 
and  I thoroughly  harmonized  on  every  question  that  we  ever 
discussed.  Both  of  us  wanted  to  go  into  the  Confederate 
army,  but  he  would  not  go  because  his  con.science  would  not 
allow  him  to  fight,  and  I did  not  go  for  that  rea.son,  and  be- 
cause I was  opposed  to  slavery.  One  day  my  Southern  sym- 
pathies got  the  better  of  me.  I could  hear  the  cannon  toward 
Frankfort  and  knew  that  a little  battle  was  going  on,  about 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


99 


fifteen  miles  away,  between  Gen.  John  H.  Morgan,  of  the 
Confederates,  and  some  bod}'  of  Federal  forces.  I said  noth- 
ing about  it  to  anybody,  bnt  I made  iip  my  mind  to  go  into 
the  Confederate  army,  and  have  it  appear,  so  far  as  possible 
to  others,  and  to  my.self,  that  it  was  accidental.  I knew  that 
the  forces  engaged  were  cavalry.  I determined  to  get  me  a 
fine  horse,  so  that  the  owner  w'onld  only  siippo.se  I had  gone 
for  a ride,  and  drop  an  order  for  him  to  be  paid  for,  in  the 
postoffice,  and  then  start  toward  the  battle  so  that  Morgan’s 
.scouts  and  pickets  would  capture  me,  and  when  I was  taken 
to  him,  as  I knew  I would  be,  I intended  to  tell  him  that  I 
wanted  to  be  a combination  of  chaplain,  hospital  nurse  and 
soldier  with  a gun,  I went  to  the  livery  stable  of  Mr.  Thorn- 
ton, who  I knew  was  such  a Rebel  that  he  would  give  me  a 
hor.se  if  I asked  it  for  the  purpose  for  which  I really  wanted 
it.  I ordered  a good  horse,  as  if  I were  merely  going  out  for 
a ride,  but  he  said  he  had,  early  that  morning,  sent  all  of  his 
horses  awa}',  because  he  was  afraid  the  soldiers  would  be  in 
towm  that  day,  and  steal  all  of  his  horses.  I went  away  with- 
out betraying  any  .special  disappointment  and  spent  some  time 
walking  and  thinking  about  it,  and  especially  about  my  obli- 
gation to  my  widowed  mother,  I being  the  only  male  member 
of  her  family,  and  I finally  made  up  my  mind  not  to  go  then. 
I subsequently  went  into  two  such  places,  hoping  I would  be 
captured  and  pressed  into  the  service  by  the  Confederates, 
who  would  .see  that  that  was  what  I wanted  to  be,  but  I only 
acted  as  chaplain  and  nurse  in  the  hospitals. 

Dick  Reid  afterward  married  the  wddowed  .sister  of  Miss 
Jameson,  a Mrs.  Rogers,  who  was  and  is,  a most  beautiful, 
elegant  and  accomplished  woman.  I visited  them  at  their 
beautiful  home  in  the  suburbs  of  Mt.  Sterling,  Ky.  It  was  a 
perfect  picture  of  domestic  happiness.  Dick  was  one  of  the 
Judges  of  the  Court  of  Appeals,  and  was  very  popular.  He 
was  the  leading  man  in  the  church  of  that  town.  This  was 
about  the  year  1885.  A lawyer  of  Mt.  Sterling,  named  Cor- 
nelison,  who  was  an  elder  in  Reid’s  church,  had  a case  in  the 
Court  of  Appeals  that  was  decided  against  him.  Cornelison 
accused  Reid  of  having,  for  personal  motives,  influenced  the 


100 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


decision  against  him.  Reid  denied  the  charge  to  the  entire 
satisfaction  of  the  public.  Cornelison  went  into  Reid’s  law 
office,  and  with  a heavy  cane,  beat  Reid  almost  to  death,  Reid 
making  no  resistance,  because  he  was  morally  opposed  to  fight- 
ing, even  in  his  own  .self-defense.  So  great  was  the  sympathy 
for  Reid  and  indignation  against  Corneli.son,  that  from  the 
State  pre.ss,  .solidly,  there  was  a demand  that  Reid  should  kill 
Cornelison.  I was  employed  as  editor  and  reporter  on  a daily 
paper,  and  did  all  I could  to  convince  the  public  that  the  way 
they  were  treating  the  case  was  not  the  way  to  encourage 
Reid,  who  had  done,  as  he  had,  as  an  example  to  his  country- 
men. Some  papers  insinuated  that  it  would  be  cowardice  if 
Reid  did  not  kill  Cornelison.  One  day  Reid  went  into  his  of- 
fice, wrote  a neat  little  card  to  his  wife,  bidding  her  good-bye, 
and,  putting  a pistol  to  his  temple,  blew  his  brains  out.  Cor- 
nelison was  put  in  jail,  .spent  three  years  there,  came  out  a 
physical  wreck,  and  died  soon  after  A beautiful  biography 
of  Judge  Reid,  written  by  his  wife,  has  in  it  a contribution 
from  my  pen,  which  she  did  me  the  honor  to  ask. 

Another  interesting  acquaintance  that  I made  in  Ver- 
sailles was  a young  man,  .several  years  younger  than  myself, 
named  Clarence  Greathouse.  His  family  consi.sted  of  his 
widowed  mother,  his  exceedingly  beautiful  and  every  way  at- 
tractive .sister,  about  i8  years  old,  and  himself.  The  mother 
and  sisters  were  members  of  my  church,  when  I went  there, 
and  Clarance  joined  after  I went  there.  He  did  not  want  to  be 
baptized  in  a baptistry,  so  we  went,  accompanied  by  a large 
crowd  of  people,  .some  miles  out  into  the  country,  and  I bap- 
tized him  in  a large  pond.  I frequently  visited  at  his  home, 
and  he  and  I spent  much  time  walking  and  talking  together. 
He  was  studying  law,  and  soon  after  I left  Versailles  he  went 
to  San  Franci.sco,  California,  to  practice  his  profession.  He 
rose  rapidly  in  his  profession.  In  a few  years  he  did  some- 
thing that  so  favorably  attracted  the  attention  of  the  Em- 
peror of  China  that  the  Emperor  offered  him  a position  as 
lawyer  in  his  court.  Young  Greathou.se  went  to  China  and 
.soon  so  established  him.self  in  the  Emperor’s  favor  that  he  be- 
came wealthy,  and  his  sister  having  died,  he  sent  for  his 


BEHIND  THE  BAES ; 31498. 


101 


mother,  and  the  two  have  lived  in  China  for  twenty-five  years, 
and  are  so  delighted  with  the  people  and  the  country,  that 
when  they  have  come  back  here  on  visits,  they  have  said  they 
could  not  be  induced  to  live  in  America  again.  In  his  success 
he  seems  to  have  forgotten  me,  and  has  never  communicated 
with  me. 

Among  the  clergy  in  Versailles,  Bishop  Kavanaugh,  of 
the  Methodist  church,  was  one  of  my  friends,  and  sometimes 
preached  for  me  in  my  pulpit.  Rev.  Venerable,  of  the  Episco- 
pal church,  was  also  my  friend.  He  was  a very  attractive 
character,  was  a beautiful  orator,  and  was  delightful  in  con- 
versation. The  other  preachers  of  the  tdwn  I did  not  like. 
One  of  my  friends  was  Ex-Lieutenant-Governor  Thomas 
Payne  Porter.  He  sometimes  came  to  hear  me  preach— his 
wife  was  a member  of  my  congregation — but  he  was  said  to 
hold  the  views  of  the  man  for  whom  he  had  been  named. 
One  of  the  few  times  I ever  saw  Tom  Marshall  was  then,  in 
Versailles.  The  war  had  been  going  on  for  three  years,  and 
Tcm,  then  the  greatest  orator  in  America,  and  his  brother  Ed. 
had  on  cheap  hats  that  they  had  bought  before  the  war,  and 
said  they  would  never  buy  another  until  the  Confederacy  was 
free.  One  day  a Federal  Colonel,  finely  dressed,  was  standing 
at  the  head  of  his  regiment  in  the  streets  of  Versailles.  Tom 
Marshall,  in  very  dilapidated  apparel,  was  standing  on  the 
curb-stone  looking  at  the  regiment.  Somebody  told  the  Fed- 
eral Colonel  that  that  was  Tom  Marshall,  and  the  Colonel 
started  toward  Marshall,  and  touching  his  hat  as  if  to  a supe- 
rior officer,  said  to  Marshall,  “I  believe  I have  the  honor  to 
address  the  Honorable  Thomas  F.  Marshall.”  Tom  was,  as 
usual,  loaded  with  the  liquid  staple  of  Kentucky,  and  said  to 
the  Colonel,  ‘‘Yes,  you  have  the  honor  to  addre.ss  the  Honor- 
able Thomas  F.  Marshall,  and  I’ve  got  more  sense  than  you 
and  all  your  regiment  put  together.”  While  I was  in  Ver- 
sailles Mr.  Marshall  died  with  scarcely  the  comforts  of  life 
around  him,  and  almost  alone,  except  his  wife,  and  it  is  one 
of  the  regrets  of  my  life  that,  by  an  accident,  I was  not  with 
him  when  he  died.  I believe  he  would  have  given  me  his 
dying  testimony  about  religion. 


102 


BEHIND  THE  BAES ; 31498. 


Ed.  Marshall  was  almost  as  great  an  orator  as  Tom  Mar- 
shall, The  hardest  laugh  I ever  had  in  Versailles  was  in 
Dick  Reid’s  office,  listening  to  Ed.  Marshall  give  a ridiculous 
description  of  his  own  farming.  Ed.  Marshall,  a Democrat, 
was  at  the  Presidential  convention  in  which  Ingersoll  nomi- 
nated Blaine.  Marshall  threw  up  his  hat  and  acted  almost 
like  a wild  man,  when  Ingensoll  had  finished.  Marshall  said, 
“I  would  rather  have  made  that  .speech  than  be  Pre.sident  of 
the  United  States.’’ 

The  female  college,  which  was  under  my  pastoral  care, 
was  a place  of  great  interest  to  me,  and  to  it  I had  unre- 
stricted access.  At  this  college  I first  saw  Miss  Josie  Wil- 
liamson. She  was  a music  teacher  and  was  so  young  that  she 
seemed  to  me  like  one  of  the  .school  girls-  She  was  pretty, 
and  sweet  in  her  manners  and  full  of  good  .spirits.  I suppose 
she  was  about  19  years  old.  She  was  an  Episcopalian,  and  I 
cannot  remember  whether  she  ever  came  to  my  church,  but  I 
think  it  probable  that  she  .sometimes  did.  When  the  war  was 
over  she  married  Captain  William  Henry,  of  the  Confederate 
army,  and  she  now  ranks  as  high  as  any  writer  and  speaker 
in  the  infidel  cause  in  America.  She  has  been  one  of  my  ear- 
liest literal'}^  patrons  and  supporters  ever  since  I began  in  in- 
fidel journalism.  Her  husband  established  a splendid  school 
immediately  after  the  war,  and  made  a great  success  of  it  in 
every  sen.se.  They  have  a beautiful  home  at  Versailles,  and 
entertain  with  royal  hospitality.  Of  all  the  things  that  have 
ever  been  said  about  me  outside  of  my  own  family,  I prize 
most  what  has  been  said  by  Mrs.  Henry.  I regard  her  as  the 
person  who,  of  all  who  have  lived  in  Kentucky,  has  made 
the  most  valuable  impress  upon  that  State.  During  my  im- 
prisonment her  letters  to  1113'  wife  and  to  me  have  been  one 
of  the  highest  sources  of  encouragement  to  us.  While  Mrs. 
Henry  has  attained  by  far  the  greatest  prominence  ever  at- 
tained b>'  any  Kentuck}'  woman,  I cannot  recall  that  there 
was  in  her,  .so  far  as  I could  see,  anything  more  upon  which 
to  forecast  such  distinction  than  upon  quite  a number  of  other 
bright  girls  in  the  school. 

One  of  the  most  elegant  homes  at  which  I was  ever  en- 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


103 


tertained  was  that  of  Mr.  Joseph  S.  Woolfolk,  who  was  a 
member  of  my  church  in  Versailles,  though  he  lived  in  the 
country,  quite  a distance  from  the  town.  The  family  were 
my  most  devoted  friends.  He  had  a niece,  a Miss  Harris, 
who  was  at  his  home  when  I was  there.  She  was  a member 
of  my  congregation,  and  was  one  of  the  greatest  beauties  I 
ever  saw.  She  and  I got  up  early  one  morning  and  took  a 
buggy  ride  before  breakfast,  down  a beautiful  turnpike  that 
ran  into  the  magnificent  scenery  that  begins  the  descent  to- 
ward the  Kentucky  river.  Miss  Harris  was  exquisitely 
dressed,  and  except  that  I had  determined  to  devote  my  life 
to  preaching,  I would  have  asked  her  that  morning  to  become 
my  wife.  Mr.  Woolfolk  moved  to  Kexington,  and  was  the 
foreman  of  the  grand-jury  that  indicted  me  for  blasphemy. 

In  the  church  in  which  I was  a preacher  each  congrega- 
tion elects  its  minister,  by  vote  of  its  members,  each  year.  A 
month  or  so  before  my  year  was  to  expire,  I had  been  inves- 
tigating the  question  of  the  truth  of  the  New  Testament,  just 
as  I had,  with  Hatch,  investigated  the  Old  Testament,  and 
the  conviction  began  to  dawn  on  me  that  .some  day  I would 
be  compelled  to  abandon  the  New  Testament,  just  as  I had 
done  the  Old.  I made  up  my  mind  that  at  the  end  of  the 
year  I would  quit  preaching,  and,  of  cour.se,  I made  no  effort 
to  be  elected  again.  A young  preacher.  Rev.  John  S.  Shouse, 
who  became  very  popular,  and  commanded  a fine  salary, 
wanted  the  place  I had  at  Versailles,  and  offered  his  name  for 
the  position.  I did  not  authorize  anybody  to  offer  my  name 
as  a candidate  for  the  po.sition,  but  my  name  was  offered,  and 
I got  every  vote  in  the  congregation,  incUiding  the  aunt  and 
nieces  of  Mr.  Shouse,  except  that  of  one  of  my  most  intimate 
supporters  and  church  workers,  named  Duvall,  who  voted 
against  me,  because,  he  said,  I was  a Rebel.  He  was  an  in- 
tense Union  man. 

My  conviction  of  the  inaccuracy  of  the  New  Te.stament 
grew  upon  me  so  that  I began  to  see  that  I could  not  honestly 
fill  my  po.sition  in  the  clnirch  until  the  end  of  the  }’ear.  I 
felt  inclined  to  preach  sermons  of  morals  irerel}q  but  I could 
not  conscientiously  conduct  any  of  the  church  sacraments. 


104 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


So  one  day  I went  into  the  pulpit  and  preached  a sermon,  and 
at  its  close,  with  no  explanation  to  anybody,  closed  the  Bible, 
picked  up  my  hat  and  walked  down  the  pulpit  steps  and  up  a 
side  aisle  and  out  of  the  front  door  of  the  church.  That 
evening  I called  the  officers  of  my  church  together,  and  ex- 
plained to  them  that  I had  quit  preaching  because  I had  be- 
come skeptical  as  to  the  truth  of  the  Bible.  They  treated  me 
with  great  kindness  and  seemed  not  to  have  any  doubt  of  my 
sincerity,  and  while  they  regretted  it,  seemed  to  think  it  was 
all  I could  do  under  the  circumstances.  I had  not  a single  in- 
fidel acquaintance  in  the  whole  world,  except  those  I have 
told  you  of  in  the  mountains.  I had  never  read  any  infidel 
book  or  infidel  newspaper,  and  the  name  of  Ingersoll  had 
never  been  heard  of.  One  day  as  I pa,s.sed  along  by  a little 
hotel,  I heard  one  man  say  to  others,  “There’s  a preacher 
who  went  crazy  about  a woman.’’ 

The  world  all  seemed  very  dark  to  me,  and  especially  as 
my  leaving  the  pulpit,  under  the  circumstances,  was  almost 
breaking  the  heart  of  my  mother.  She  seemed  to  suffer  great 
agou}q  and  I tried  to  explain  to  her  that  there  were  rea.sons 
for  ni}^  doing  as  I did,  but  she  had  nev'er  heard  anything  but 
one  side  of  the  argument  about  religion,  and  I could  not  com- 
fort her.  In  abandoning  the  Christian  religion,  I felt  that  it 
would  subject  me  to  numerous  disadvantages,  but  all  the  time 
there  was  a consciousness  that  I was  living  up  to  my  honest 
convictions  and  a strong  belief  that  the  time  would  come 
when  many  intelligent  and  good  people  would  honor  me  for 
my  courage,  and  these  sustained  me  in  my  new  departure. 
Had  1 then  known  that  three  times  in  my  life  I would  be  a 
prisoner  for  my  religious  opinions  I do  not  know  that  I would 
have  dared  to  let  my  sentiments  be  known,  but  the  example 
of  John  Brown,  who  had  given  his  life  for  his  fellow-men,  in 
defiance  of  the  plain  Bible  teaching  that  slavery  was  right, 
had  so  aroused  1113'  admiration  for  him  that  I now  believe  I 
would  then  have  given  my  life  in  attestation  of  my  sincerity. 
How  it  would  be  if  I had  fallen  into  cruel  hands,  as  a convict, 
I do  not  know,  but  as  it  is  now,  I congratulate  myself  that  I 
have  had  the  courage  so  to  stand  by  my  convictions  that  I am 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  ; 31498. 


105 


now  in  a penitentiary  cell,  and  I am  assured  that  my  being 
here  will  make  me  friends  and  will  honor  my  family  and  will 
do  good  to  the  world.  It  is  highly  probable  that  I may  not 
live  to  the  end  of  my  sentence,  and  the  longing  for  my  home 
is  something  awful,  and  yet  if  it  were  po.ssible  for  me  to  step 
out  of  this  prison  a freeman,  merel}-  by  recanting  or  saying  I 
was  sorrj"  for  what  I have  done  and  written,  I would  remain  a 
prisoner  here. 


106 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

During  m3'  stay  at  Versailles  I had,  in  the  capacity  of  a 
chaplain  and  nurse,  in  Confederate  hospitals,  my  only  expe- 
rience in  war.  There  had  been  a battle  at  Cynthiana,  Ky., 
between  Confederate  General  John  H.  Morgan  and  Federal 
General  Hopson.  The  Confederates  were  defeated,  and  Con- 
federate Surgeon  Kellar,  now  of  Lexington,  was  left  in  charge 
of  the  wounded.  An  old  church  had  been  converted  into  a 
hospital  .simply  by  taking  the  benches  out.  Nearly  everybody 
about  there  was  in  S3^mpathy  with  the  Confederates.  One 
would  hardly  suppose  there  could  be  any  romance  and  fun  in 
a military  hospital,  especially  in  one  .so  without  the  comforts 
and  nece.ssaries  of  such  a place  as  a Confederate  hospital  at 
that  time,  must  necessarily  have  been,  but  there  was  much  to 
entertain  both  the  wounded  soldiers  and  their  attendants.  It 
was  in  a highly  cultivated  and  wealthy  community,  and  nearly 
ever>'  soldier  had  his  sweetheart,  who  came  daily  to  spend  the 
day  with  him,  from  the  beautiful  women  that  abounded  in 
that  vicinity.  Most  of  the  wounded  were  from  among  the 
cream  of  Kentucky  .society,  and  their  lady  friends  were  from 
the  same  class  of  .society.  Each  young  woman,  I .soon  .saw, 
could  be  relied  upon  to  do  all  that  was  possible  to  be  done  for 
the  particular  soldier  in  which  she  was  interested,  but  further 
than  this  she  would  not  go,  and  all  of  us  soon  recognized  that 
that  was  the  best  way.  Each  girl  would  sit  close  b}"  her  spe- 
cial patient  and  read  to  him,  or  talk  to  him,  or  feed  him,  or 
give  him  medicine,  and  the  pretty  girl  would  often  bend  down 
down  so  low  over  the  wounded  soldier  that  sometimes  their 
faces  would  be  almost  together  for  a long  time,  and  they 
would  talk  low  together,  almost  like  they  were  husband  and 
wife,  as  some  of  them  sub.sequently  were,  and  they  did  it 
without  any  embarrassment,  all  recognizing  that  it  was  all 
right,  and  .some  fearfully  wounded  poor  fellows  were  viewed 
with  actual  jealousy,  while  the  girls  with  combs,  brushes,  per- 
fumed .soap  and  towels  tenderly  manipulated  the  hair,  beard, 
faces  and  hands  of  the  brave  young  fellows.  Among  the 
w^ounded  there  was  one  fellow  who  furnished  continual  amuse- 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  ; 31498. 


107 


ment  for  the  whole  hospital,  by  autics  aud  queer  talk.  He 
had  been  struck  right  in  the  center  of  the  breast  by  a minie 
ball  that  passed  straight  through  him  and  came  out  close  be- 
side his  backbone;  a wound  that  one  would  suppose  would 
kill  him  instantly,  but  he  not  only  lived  with  that  hole  through 
him,  but  had  an  exhaustless  supply  of  spirits.  He  was  not 
like  the  others  were,  from  the  highe.st  rank  of  society,  and 
he  had  as  his  sweetheart,  who  was  devoted  to  him,  a lady  of 
his  own  class  of  society  who  was  getting  along  to  the  “old 
maid’’  stage.  She  had  a quaint-looking  yellow  sun-bonnet, 
which  her  patient  insisted  on  wearing  most  of  the  time.  In 
his  half  dress  he  would  go  running  about  the  ho.spital  aud 
perform  capers  that  were  in  perfect  consonance  with  the  Dar- 
winian theory  of  the  consanguinity  of  man  and  monkey. 
From  the  loss  of  blood  and  ho.spital  confinement  he  was  very 
pale.  Every  day  or  two  the  Federal  surgeons  would  come  to 
our  ho.spital,  and  would  examine  the  wounded  and  send  off  all 
they  thought  could  stand  the  trip  to  Camp  Chase,  in  two  miles 
of  where  I am  now  a prisoner.  We  would  keep  somebody  on 
the  watch-out  for  the  coming  of  these  Federal  surgeons,  so 
that  the  sick  and  wounded  might  prepare  to  look  as  bad  as 
possible,  to  keep  from  being  sent  to  prison,  which  they  all 
dreaded;  and  we  would  give  a signal  when  any  of  them  would 
be  seen  coming.  The  funny  fellow,  with  the  hole  through 
him,  would  throw  away  his  yellow  sun-bonnet  and  run  and 
jump  into  his  bed,  and  stretch  himself  out  flat  on  his  back, 
and  look  so  that  the  Federal  surgeons  would  evidently  think 
that  it  was  only  a matter  of  a few  more  days  before  they 
could  send  him  out  to  sleep  the  eternal  sleep  beside  some  of 
his  companions  in  arms.  One  would  hardly  have  thought 
his  nurse,  who  owned  the  3'ellow  sun-bonnet,  capable  of  play- 
ing her  role  so  perfectly,  but  the  doleful  and  despairing  air 
with  which  she  looked  into  the  faces  of  the  Federal  surgeons 
to  catch  any  possible  hope  that  her  charge  might  possibly  live 
a few  days  longer,  would  have  made  an 3'  of  us  laugh,  except 
for  the  fatal  consequences  to  the  funny  fellow,  whose  services 
to  cheer  the  other  wounded  were  simply  invaluable.  But 
when  the  surgeons  were  gone  and  that  woman  again  gave  up 


108 


BEHIND  THE  BABS : 31498. 


her  recovered  suu-bonnet  to  her  patient,  with  no  appearance 
of  any  appreciation  of  the  grotesquene.s.s  of  the  whole  thing, 
I could  but  give  away  to  the  heartiest  laughs  that  I had  had 
at  anything,  not  even  excepting  Brother  Lynx’s  “salt  house’’ 
key  story,  since  1115^  love  affair  had  brought  its  gloom  over  my 
life.  The  saddest  case  in  the  hospital  was  that  of  a boy  fif- 
teen years  old,  who  had  run  away  from  his  parents  and  gone 
into  the  army,  and  got  shot  three  times  in  his  first  day’s  ex- 
perience. He  was  shot  in  the  che.st,  through  the  arm  and 
through  the  knee.  He  said  he  did  not  care  for  the  first  two, 
but  .seemed  to  think  the  shot  through  the  knee  would  kill 
him,  as  it  did,  after  most  excruciating  suffering. 

I had  a singular  experience  with  a handsome  young  .sol- 
dier named  Longmore,  who  afterward  became  clerk  of  the 
Court  of  Appeals  of  Kentucky.  I think  he  was  a Captain, 
and  he  was  lying  with  his  head  at  the  foot  of  the  cot  upon 
which  was  Captain  Stone,  who  has  since  been  a very  promi- 
ment  character  in  Kentucky  politics.  Stone  and  Longmore 
were  shot  in  almost  the  same  way,  each  having  a thigh  bone 
broken  by  a minie  ball,  and  after  the  time  of  which  I speak 
each  had  his  leg  amputated  at  the  hip.  On  the  morning  of 
which  I speak,  the  beautiful  young  woman  that  he  afterward 
married,  and  who  is  now  his  widow,  was  sitting  by  him  when 
I came  to  her  and  told  her  that  we  would  excuse  her  while  I 
dressed  Captain  Lougmore’s  wound.  When  she  had  gone  I 
turned  back  the  cover  and  saw  a row  of  mushrooms  growing 
from  under  the  bandage  on  his  leg,  from  the  hip  ^lear  down 
to  his  heel.  The  largest  was  about  as  big  around  as  a dollar, 
and  they  diminished  regularly  iu  size  down  to  his  heel,  the 
smallest  of  them — about  twenty-five  in  all — being  about  the 
size  of  a ten-ceut  piece.  The  bed  was  nice,  clean  and  dry, 
and  there  were  no  mushrooms  there  when  I left  him  late  the 
night  before.  They  grew  on  the  outer  side  of  the  wounded 
leg,  and  came  from  between  the  bandage  and  the  sheet,  their 
roots  spreading  out  undet  his  leg  until  they  were  so  thin  that 
I could  not  see  wdiere  they  started.  I expressed  great  sur- 
prise, and  showed  some  of  the  mushrooms  to  Captain  Long- 
more,  who  was  lying  on  his  back,  unable  to  move,  and  smok- 


BEHINt)  THE  BARS;  31498. 


109 


iiig  a cigar.  He  .said  nothing  when  I showed  them  to  liiin. 

After  that  I went  to  the  Confederate  hospital  that  was 
established  on  the  battle-field  of  Green  River  Bridge,  in  Ken- 
tucky, at  which  battle  my  brother-in-law.  Major  Thomas  Y. 
Brent,  had  been  killed.  A ball  .struck  him  in  the  breast  and 
as  he  was  strangling  with  the  blood  that  was  gushing  out  of 
his  mouth  he  .simply  .said,  “Turn  me  over,’’  and  the.se  were 
the  onl}"  words  he  uttered.  The  Federals  were  on  the  inside 
of  a “horse-.shoe  bend’’  of  Green  river,  the  banks  being  very 
precipitou.s.  Acro.ss  the  narrow  place  from  one  to  the  other 
point  of  the  “hor.se-shoe”  the  Federals  had  fine  breast-works, 
and  back  of  them  were  large  trees  cut  so  that  they  lapped  into 
each  other,  and  still  back  of  both  of  these  wms  a very  strong 
stockade  fort.  The  Confederates — Morgan’s  cavalry — had  to 
come  for  half  a mile  over  a perfectly  clear,  level  and  open  old 
field,  right  up  to  the  front  of  the.se  breast-works,  but  they 
had  done  this  and  had  driven  the  Federals  from  them,  arid 
the  Federals  had  fallen  back  into  the  felled  trees.  Major 
Brent  was  leading  his  men  through  the  top  of  an  immense 
fallen  tree  when  the  ball  struck  him  that  killed  him. 

The  Federals  remained  in  po.ssession  of  the  field,  and 
their  dead  were  all  nicely  buried.  The  private  Confederate 
soldiers  that  were  killed  were  piled  into  one  great  hole,  one 
on  the  other,  and  the  dirt  was  piled  over  them,  but  Colonel 
Chenault  and  Major  Brent  had  been  buried  by  Confederate 
soldiers,  each  in  a home-made  poplar  box,  in  a pretty  place  off 
from  the  others.  I exhumed  Major  Brent’s  remains  and  took 
them  to  my  old  home,  where  they  are  now  buried,  my  Sister 
Mary,  his  widow,  still  owning  the  old  home.  Considerable 
delay  was  nece.ssary  in  order  to  get  a coffin  to  carry  the  re- 
mains home,  and  during  that  time  I waited  on  the  wounded 
at  the  Confederate  hospital,  which  was  an  old  deserted  house 
in  the  wilderness.  Here  the  conditions  were  all  different 
from  what  the}"  had  been  at  Cynthiana,  the  chief  difference 
being  that  there  was  not  a woihan  there,  and  scarcely  the  ne- 
cessities of  life.  There  was  no  one  to  help  the  wounded  and 
dying,  except  the  Confederate  soldiers  wdio  had  been  left  in 
charge,  and  they  were  so  exhau.sted  that  they  were  ver}'  in- 


no 


BEiriND  THE  BAES;  31498. 


efficient  nurses,  and  seemed  to  be  so  hardened  by  the  cruelties 
and  horrors  of  war  that  they  had  lost  all  natural  sympathy 
for  each  other.  I worked  with  them  day  and  night  until  I 
was  so  overcome  from  the  want  of  sleep  that  T determined  that 
I would  have  to  harden  1115'  heart  as  the  others  were  doing, 
and  go  to  sleep,  and  I laid  down  for  that  purpose.  But, 
awfully  drows3"  as  I was,  I could  not  sleep  for  the  groans  of 
the  wounded. 

(I  find  here  that  I cannot  recall  whether  this  was  while 
I was  at  Versailles,  or  afterward,  and  situated  as  I am,  I have 
no  way  of  telling ) . 

The  weather  was  intensely  hot,  and  it  was  about  mid- 
night of  an  intensely  dark  and  perfectly  still  night.  There 
was  a splendid  young  man  shot  right  through  the  chest,  al- 
most exactly  like  the  funny  fellow  I have  told  you  about  at 
Cynthiana,  but  the  one  at  Green  River  Bridge  was  suffering 
the  pangs  that  killed  him  a few  days  later.  Unable  to  sleep, 
I went  to  this  man  who  I heard  begging  for  “just  one  cold 
drink  of  water  before  I die,’’  and  all  around  him  were  sound 
asleep.  There  was  no  good  water  that  I knew  of  anywhere, 
and  I could  only  find  an  old  dirty  bucket  and  a tin  cup  to  get 
any.  I roused  a sleeping  soldier  who  had  been  detailed  as  a 
nurse,  and  getting  him  a .stool  that  I thought  he  would  fall  off 
of  if  he  went  to  .sleep,  so  as  to  wake  him,  I made  him  promise 
to  sit  and  watch  the  man  with  the  hole  through  his  breast  un- 
til I got  back.  As  I went  out  of  the  door  with  my  bucket,  I 
could  see  in  the, little  light  from  the  house  a poor  fellow  lying 
on  an  old  bench,  and  resting  his  head  on  an  old  board  split 
out  to  cover  a house,  one  end  of  which  was  against  the  house, 
who  had  been  shot  a little  in  front  of  and  a little  below  the 
ear,  and  the  ball  had  passed  clear  through  his  head  and  come 
out  in  the  corresponding  place  on  the  other  side.  His  jaws 
were  so  broken  that  his  chin  fell  back  against  his  throat,  and 
the  sight  was  ghastly,  and  his  groans,  while  he  vyas  asleep, 
were  piteous;  though,  while  he  was  awake  he  never  uttered  a 
groan,  and  had  said  to  me  if  I would  fill  his  tin  pan  with  w'a- 
ter  for  him,  once  each  day,  that  would  be  all  the  waiting  on 
that  he  would  ask.  I walked  by  the  .spot  where  Major  Brent 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


Ill 


had  lain  dead  on  the  ground,  and  where  another  officer  had 
shown  me,  on  his  own  feet,  the  cavalr}"  boots  that  he  had 
pulled  off  of  the  feet  of  the  dead  Major  Brent.  I went  out 
into  the  road,  on  the  side  of  which,  near  b}",  la}'  in  a hole  the 
piled  dead  bodies  of  the  Confederates.  I was  almost  ex- 
hausted physically,  and  weighed  down  mentally  from  the  hor- 
rors with  which  I was  surrounded.  The  country  was  verj' 
wild  and  rugged,  and  in  front  of  me  was  a deep  and  dark  ra- 
vine, filled  with  great  rocks  and  trees,  fallen  and  standing, 
and  undergrowth  and  vines.  I knew  enough  about  such 
topographies  to  suppose  that  in  the  bottom  of  that  ravine 
there  w'ould  probablj'  be  running  a stream  of  water,  but  how 
to  get  there,  and  whether  I was  liable  to  fall  over  a precipice 
and  kill  myself,  or  step  on  a rattle-snake,  or  copperhead,  I 
did  not  know.  I had  heard  Hatch  give  a most  realistic  de- 
scription of  his  walking  up  on  a dead  soldier,  l3'ing  on  his 
back,  with  his  ej-es  wide  open,  one  night,  and  he  said  the  sen- 
sation was  far  more  horrible  than  anything  he  had  ever  ex- 
perienced in  any  battle,  and  he  had  described  to  me  how  once 
when  the  command  to  which  he  belonged  was  retreating  from 
the  pursuing  Federals,  through  a wilderness,  he  had  been 
one  of  a company  that  was  ordered  to  conceal  themselves  and 
ambu.sh  the  vanguard  of  the  Federals.  The  Rebels  were  hid- 
den behind  a little  hill,  just  high  enough  to  conceal  them, 
near  the  edge  of  a little  stream  that  was  almost  as  deep  as 
they  could  ford  on  horses,  and  they  knew  the  Yankees  were 
following  them,  and  would  cross  at  that  place.  The  Rebels 
were  ordered  to  lie  flat  behind  that  bank  until  a certain  man 
was  to  fire  his  gun  at  the  Yankees  as  a signal  for  the  others  to 
rise  and  fire. 

The  Rebels  could  finall}"  hear  the  Yankees  riding  into  the 
stream  on  the  opposite  side,  and  could  hear  their  horses  drink- 
ing, and  could  hear  the  men  talking  about  how  deep  the  water 
was.  He  could  hear  his  own  heart  beating  with  the  fearful 
excitement.  Finally  the  signal  rifle  was  fired  and  jumping  up 
instantly  they  found  the  stream  full  of  Federal  cavalry,  so  near 
and  so  thick  that  it  was  hardly  possible  for  any  shot  of  the 
Rebels  to  fail  of  some  deadly  effect.  The}'  all  fired  at  once; 


112 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


the  stream  was  full  of  dead  and  dying;  men  and  horses,  and  be- 
fore the  Yankees  could  train  their  cannon  upon  the  Rebels,  the 
latter  were  on  their  horses,  and  scouring  away,  while  bombs 
and  .solid  shot  could  only  cut  the  tops  of  the  trees  above  them. 
And  yet  Hatch  had  said  that  going  up  on  a dead  man  in  the 
dark  had  frightened  him  more  than  that  ambush,  and  more  than 
a long  engagement,  in  which  the  opposing  lines  were  .stretched 
for  miles,  and  in  which  the  command  in  which  Hatch,  was  had 
been  defeated.  I did  not  feel  like  I was  a coward.  As  I was 
coming  to  that  battle-field  with  my  peculiar  clerical  dress  on  and 
on  a horse  with  cavalry  trappings  on  him,  a drunken  Federal 
cavalryman  had  met  me,  he  being  greatly  enraged  by  the  de- 
feat of  his  command  near  there  only  a few  days  before,  and 
cocking  his  gun  had  looked  at  me — nobody  but  us  two  out  in 
the  lonely  wilderness — and  had  said  to  me:  “If  I thought  you 
were  a damned  Rebel  I would  kill  you  right  here.”  He  seemed 
to  assume  that  I would  lie  to  him  if  I were  a Rebel,  if  he 
.should  a.sk  me,  .so  that  he  did  not  ask  me,  and  I never  told  him. 
I felt  relieved  when  the  fellow  rode  on,  and  felt  .some  little 
apprehension  that  he  might  shoot  me  in  the  back  as  I rode  off, 
for  he  was  a much  worse  looking  man  than  a fair  representa- 
tive man  of  either  side,  and  was  drunk  beside,  and  I carefully 
examined  my  own  state  of  mind  and  felt  that  I was  not  fright- 
ened, though  I had  intended  telling  him  the  exact  truth  if  he 
had  asked  me. 

But  in  the  exhausted  state  of  mind  that  I was  that  dark 
night  that  I started  down  into  that  great  gorge  after  water  the 
thought  came  over  me  that,  somewhere,  there  in  the  dark,  I 
might  come  upon  the  body  of  .some  poor  .soldier  who  had  died 
there  and  not  been  found,  and  though  I have,  several  times  in 
my  life,  looked  death  in  the  face  at  pretty  short  range,  my 
search  for  that  water  had  in  it  more  that  was  horrible  than  all 
the  other  experiences  of  my  life.  I climbed  down  the  moun- 
tain side,  over  fallen  trees  and  rocks,  until  I thought  I could 
hear  water  in  the  distance,  and  was  finally  assured  that  I could 
hear  it  ripple  in  the  perfect  stillness,  and  I thought  about  the 
po.ssibility  of  getting  that  poor  dying  .soldier  the  drink  of  wa- 
ter that  .seemed  to  be  the  last  gift  that  he  asked  of  earth,  and 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


113 


my  whole  excitement  was  turned  into  the  fear  that  I might  not 
get  back  with  the  water.  I finally  got  down  to  where  I stooped 
and  felt  the  cool  water  on  my  hand  and  took  a drink  of  it  out 
the  cup.  I filled  mj’-  bucket,  cupfull  at  a time,  and  then  found, 
to  my  gratification,  that  I could  get  back  up  the  hill,  or  small 
mountain,  faster,  and,  of  course,  safer,  as  I was  not  then  liable 
to  fall  over  anything,  than  I had  done  coming  down,  and  un- 
der the  feeling  that  I had  conquered  my  fear,  and  with  the 
hope  of  getting  to  the  sufferer  while  the  w’ater  was  so  cool,  I 
clambered  up  in  less  than  half  the  time  1 had  taken  to  come 
down  When  I got  to  the  wounded  man  I found  him  nearly 
dead  because  the  soldier  that  I had  set  to  watch  him,  had  gone 
to  sleep  and  had  failed  right  acioss  the  wound  in  the  breast  of 
his  fellow  soldier,  and  was  .so  sound  asleep  that  he  was  appar- 
entl}'  unconscious  of  the  fact  that  I dragged  him  off  and  away 
to  a corner  of  the  room  where  he  continued  to  sleep.  The 
poor  wounded  man,  as  soon  as  he  could  speak,  simply  said: 
“Just  to  think  that  my  own  fellow-soldier  could  treat  me  in 
that  way,  in  the  fix  that  I am;”  and  a vision  came  into  my 
mind  of  how  the  two  bosom  friends,  possibly,  had  left  their 
homes  in  the  Sunny  South  and  gone  to  “seek  the  bubble,  rep- 
utation, at  the  cannon’ s mouth,  ’ ’ and  this  was  what  they  found. 
I gave  the  wounded  man  a drink  of  that  cool  water,  and  when 
I remember  the  eagerness  with  which  he  swallowed  it,  as  if 
every  drop  of  it  was  giving  him  an  hour  more  of  life,  I think 
about  that  “cup  of  cold  water”  that  is  told  about  in  the  New 
Testament,  and  wonder  if  any  man  of  kind  heart  and  sound 
brain,  anywhere,  can  say  that  the  fact  that  I could  not  believe 
the  marvelous  stories  of  the  Bible  would  rob  me  of  thebles.sing 
promised  for  such  an  act,  even  should  the  Christian  religion 
prove  to  be  true.  In  a day  or  two  more  that  poor  wounded, 
bleeding  heart  stopped  beating  and  the  young  soldier  was  at 
rest.  One  splendid  young  fellow,  in  dying,  made  it,  among 
his  last  lequests,  that  his  parents  .should  never  be  informed  of 
his  fate,  giving  as  his  reason,  that  his  father  was  a bitter  Union 
man  and  had  opposed  his  going  into  the  Confederate  army. 
When  he  was  dead  I cut  a curl  off  his  forehead  and  sent  it  in  a 
letter  to  them,  telling  them  all  the  circumstances,  and  asking 


114 


BP^HIND  THE  BAES,  31498. 


them  to  write  to  me,  but  I never  heard  from  them.  Did  I do 
right?  I helped  to  dig  a grave  for  him  in  the  corner  of  an  old 
rail  fence,  the  nicest  place  we  could  find,  and  we  buried  him. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

My  old  home  stood  in  the  middle  of  a yard,  of  about 
seven  acres,  that  was  full  of  large  trees,  some  indigenous  and 
some  imported.  In  the  back  of  this  yard  which  began  the 
slope  down  toward  Elkhorn  creek,  was  a .spring  over  which 
was  a large  two-story  spring-house,  such  as  was  to  be  found 
at  some  of  the  most  aristocratic  old  man.sions,  built  before 
cisterns  were  in  this  country.  In  the  top  room  of  that  spring- 
house  there  was  a large  pile  of  shingles,  and  one  of  my 
amusements  was  to  make  little  ships  out  of  them  and  sail 
them  on  Elkhorn  creek.  History  is  the  greatest  of  all  the 
studies,  and  with  it  should  be  taught  geography,  the  hand- 
maiden of  history.  I knew  the  stories  of  the  Bible  before  I 
knew  geography,  and  I made  a geography  to  suit  those  sto- 
ries, and  such  an  impress  did  my  own  home-made  geography 
make  upon  my  mind  that,  in  after  years,  when  I came  to 
read  the  Apocryphal  New  Te.stament,  I still  mixed  the  Bible 
stories  with  the  scenes  in  which  I had  located  them  in  reading 
about  them  in  my  childhood;  and  to-day,  were  I a freeman,  I 
could  go  to  the  very  spot  on  Elkhorn  creek  where  Jesus  and 
his  school-mates  went  at  “big  play-time,”  to  play  in  the  mud, 
and,  while  the  other  boys  made  mud  pies,  Jesus  made  two  lit- 
tle white  doves  out  of  mud  and  held  them  up  on  his  hand  and 
they  flew  away. 

Further  up  the  stream,  near  my  pre,sent  home,  “Quaker- 
acre,”  on  my  part  of  the  old  farm,  there  now  lies  the  im- 
mense trunk  of  a sycamore  tree.  This  is  the  tree  that  Zach- 
eus  climbed,  because  he  wanted  to  see  Jesus,  and  was  so  small 
that  he  could  not  see  him  when  he  was  down  on  the  ground 
in  the  crowd.  It  is  also  the  same  tree  upon  the  roots  of 
which  there  is  a sad  little  family  tradition  that  Major  Brent 
addressed  my  sister  Mary.  That  one  stream,  the  only  one 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


115 


with  which  I was  familiar,  in  my  childish  mind,  stood  for  the 
lake  of  Oennesaret,  or  sea  of  Tiberias  and  the  river  Jordan. 
To  this  day  there  is  plainly  before  ni}'  mind  the  very  spot,  in 
Elkhorn  creek,  where  Jesus  and  John  w’aded  out  into  the  deep 
water  for  Jesus  “to  be  baptized  of  John  in  Jordan,’’  so  as  to 
be  sure  that  the  baptism  was  by  immersion  and  not  by  the 
sprinkling  that  all  of  my  preachers  taught  me  was  rank 
heresy.  Further  up  the  stream  was  where  Jesus  met  James 
and  John,  and  caught  so  many  fishes;  and  it  seems  to  me, 
.somehow,  now  here,  in  the  penitentiary  that  I am,  that  away 
back  there,  somewhere,  I had  noticed  how  people  told  large 
stories  about  fishing,  and  I read  in  one  place  about  the  net 
breaking  and  in  another  place  that  it  didn’t  break,  and  then 
about  the  men  pulling  in  so  many  fish  that  they  sank  the 
ship,  and  I recollected  that  there  was  nothing  , like  that  when 
my  father  would  .stop  the  Negro  men,  on  Saturday  evening, 
and  all  have  a frolic  seining,  while  he  walked  along  on  the 
bank,  like  Jesus  did;  and  I loved  to  read  true  stories  and  his- 
tory more  than  I did  fairy  stories,  and  .sometimes,  in  spite  of 
all  I could  do,  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  interest  of  those  sto- 
rie.s  was  somewhat  destroyed  by  the  faintest  suspicion  that 
somehow  those  stories  about  fishing  were  not  told  just  ex- 
actly like  they  had  occurred. 

I have  wondered,  a thousand  times,  if  there  was  anybody 
in  the  world  who  had  faith  enough  to  pray  that  the  big  syca- 
more tree  would  just  pull  it.self  up  by  the  roots  and  hurl  it- 
self into  Elkhorn  creek,  as  I read  about  in  the  New  Testa- 
ment, and  I could,  if  free  now,  go  to  the  very  spot  on  the 
edge  of  Elkhorn  to  which  I walked  one  morning  after  reading 
about  Jesus  walking  on  the  water,  to  see  if  the  Ford  would 
give  me  faith  to  walk  on  the  water;  l)ut  I did  not  try  it.  I 
learned  to  swim  when  I was  quite  young.  I spent  once  a 
good  deal  of  time  for  several  days  digging  a hole  with  my 
hands ’in  the  mud.  In  my  imagination  this  hole  was  a large 
and  beautiful  well,  and  I could  imagine  how  Jesus  sat  on  the 
edge  of  it  and  talked  to  the  woman  of  Samaria,  as  at  Jacob’s 
well.  Right  in  the  bottom  of  that  “well,’’  which  was  about 
two  and  a half  feet  deep,  my  middle  finger  stuck  into  some- 


116 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


thing  that  I would  have  thought  a shell,  or  an  acorn  cup,  if 
the  conditions  had  allowed  it.  I held  to  it  and  cleaned  the 
mud  off  of  it  and  out  of  it,  and  found  it  to  be  a .silver  thim- 
ble. It  had  on  it  the  initials  A.  W.  B.  I showed  ft  to  my 
mother  and  she  said  it  was  the  thimble  of  her  sister,  Amanda 
W.  Bowen,  of  Hannibal,  Mis.souri,  and  that  she  had  lost  it 
while  fishing  there  twenty  years  before.  The  chances  were 
scarcely  more  than  one  in  a million  that  that  thimble  would 
ever  be  found,  and  yet  I could  write  a whole  book  full  of  just 
such  unexpected  things  as  that  which  have  occurred  in  my 
life,  showing  that  “it  is  the  unexpected  that  happens.” 

Aunt  Amaiida  knew  Mark  Twain  when  he  was  a boy,  at 
Hannibal,  and  u.sed  to  tell  me  about  him.  Long  before  Mark 
became  famous  I had  gone  swimming  at  the  same  places  in  the 
Mi.ssissippi  river  at  Hannibal  that  Mark  did,  and  had  gone  in- 
to McDowell’s  cave  as  Mark  de,scribes  in  “Tom  Sawyer,”  and  I 
wrote  Mark  a letter  about  it,  and  got  one  from  him  identifying 
the  places  mentioned  in  “Tom  Sawyer”  with  those  where,  by 
accident,  I had  had  almost  his  same  experiences,  showing  that 
Mark’s  jokes  were  based  on  history.  Some  time,  away  back 
in  the  days  when  I was  sailing  shingle  ships  on  Klkhorn  that 
went  across  to  China  loaded  with  missionaries  and  swapped 
them  off  for  cargoes  of  tea  and  fire-crackers,  there  came  into 
my  head  all  the  dreams  induced  by  such  passages  as  these: 
“They  who  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships  and  do  business  in 
great  waters,  these  .see  the  wonders  of  the  Lord,  and  his  works 
in  the  mighty  deep;” 

“A  life  on  the  ocean’s  wave,  a home  on  the  rolling  deep;” 
“Rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  deep;” 

“The  boy  stood  on  the  burning  deck;”  and 

“On  Long  Island’s  sea-girt  shore. 

Many  an  hour  I’ve  whiled  away, 

List’ning  to  the  breakers’  roar 
Tliat  washed  the  beach  at  Rockaway.” 

Since  then,  at  the  home  of  my  friend,  Dr.  E.  B.  Foote, 
Sr.,  on  the  Sound,  at  Larchmont,  I have  stood  and  watched 
the  roll  of  the  ocean,  all  so  beautiful  and  dream-like,  that  it 
was  hard  for  me  to  separate  the  reality  from  my  boyhood  day- 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498, 


117 


dreams  on- Elkhorn.  Distracted  by  my  religious  troubles  I 
determined  to  try  to  relieve  my  mind  and,  at  the  same  time, 
gain  information  upon  the  great  subject  of  religion,  by  crossing 
the  ocean  and  walking  all  the  way  to  Palestine;  and  in  the 
early  part  of  the  first  Spring  after  the  war,  I sailed,  or  rather 
steamed,  .from  New  York  for  Liverpool.  To  write  of  a sea 
I'oyage  or  of  travel  would  only  be  doing  what  so  many  others, 
and  especially  Mark  Twain,  have  done  better  than  I could  do, 
and  would  not  be  in  the  line  of  my  present  purpose,  and  I will 
only  give  you  some  incidents  and  salient  features  that  are  spe- 
cially germane  to  my  case.  For  sea-.sickness  I refer  you  to 
Horace  Greely.  P’or  days  I saw  fire-works  that  were  not 
“nominated  in  the  bond’’  when  I paid  my  passage,  that  rolled 
in  scintillations  and  corruscations,  and  constellations  and  iri- 
' descent  girations  with  an  elaborateness  and  regardlessness  of 
expense,  before  my  eyes,  open  or  shut,  such  as  Paine,  the 
pyrotechnist,  and  Dante,  the  poet  of  the  “Inferno,”  never 
dreamed  of  in  their  philosophies.  I saw  seven  whales,  but 
they  did  not  do  as  they  were  billed  to  do  in  McGuffey’ s school 
readers  and  on  the  circus  bills.  It’s  true  that  we  did  not  stop 
to  go  and  fool  with  them,  for  they  seemed  to  be  attending 
strictly  to  their  own  business  and  wanted  us  to  do  the  same, 
on  the  “live  and  let  live”  principle;  but  they  didn’t  look  like 
fishes — if  such  we  may  call  these  legle.ss  beasts  that  suckle 
their  twin  babies  at  the  breast,  like  a woman — that  wanted  to 
flirt  up  boats  with  their  tails  and  let  all  the  men  fall  on  their 
heads,  on  the  whale.s’  backs,  as  Mr.  McGuffey  had  led  me  to 
believe.  On  the  other  hand,  once,  when  the  sea  was  so  calm 
that  the  Nautilus,  called,  familiarl 5",  the  “Portugese  .sailor,” 
had  come  up  from  down  where  the  mermaids  live  and  had 
spread  his  sails  of  coral  tracery  that  discounted  the  deftne.ss  of 
the  artist’s  chi.sel  in  the  Taj  Mahal,  I saw  the.se  great  “levia- 
thans” lying  so  lubberly  and  blubberly  out  on  ti:e  water  that 
had  I had  at  my  disposal  a good  skiff  and  fine  oars  I would 
not  have  hesitated  to  row  out  to  one  of  them  and  take  him  by 
the  “flipper”  and  greet  him  as  a jolly  old  boy,  and  perhaps  go 
aboard  of  him  for  a ride,  like  you  see  the  Triton  son  of  Pos- 
eidon and  Amphitrite,  on  a sugar  dolphin  on  a bride’s  cake  at 
a wedding. 


118 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


While  a man,  already  in  the  penitentiary  for  being  “too 
fly’’  in  the  expression  of  his  theological  convictions,  ought  not 
to  say  anything  that  might  stick  a year  or  two  more  onto  his 
sentence,  still,  apropos  of  sugar  dolphins,  I must  be  so  candied 
as  to  say,  in  justice  to  the  whales  that  I saw,  that  I think  the 
one  that  swallowed  Jonah — if  he  did  it  maliciously,  and  not  in 
kindness,  because  he  regarded  Jonah  as  a stranger  and  took 
him  in  out  of  the  wet — was  a kind  of  a heathen  whale,  born 
in  a foreign  land — or  water  rather — and  naturally  thought  a 
missionarj"  was  something  to  eat,  and  threw  up  his  contract 
when  he  found  Jonah  a tough  citizen. 

One  day  after  I had  “gotten  ray  sea  legs,’’  I was  stand- 
ing at  the  bow  talking  to  a sailor  when  he  hushed  suddenly, 
put  his  hand  above  his  eyes  and  gazed  with  a picturesque  in- 
tenseness for  several  minutes  in  one  direction,  then  turning  to 
the  “man  on  the  bridge,’’  put  his  two  hands  around  his 
mouth  and  shouted,  “Land;  ho!”  I thought  I had  as  good 
eyes  as  any  man  ever  born;  I could  find  a squirrel  and  shoot 
him  with  a rifle  as  only  the  Kentuckian  to  the  manor — or 
manner;  suit  yourself  in  that  mooted  question-born,  is  sup- 
posed to  do,  but  after  exhausting  all  my  natural  endowments 
in  vision,  backed  by  what  I had  learned  at  college  from  Com- 
stock’s— no  kin  to  Anthony — Philosophy,  I could  no  more  see 
any  land  w'here  that  sailor  said  it  was  than  you  can  now  look 
up  into  the  sky  and  literally  see  the  new  Jerusalem.  But 
after  looking  for  half  an  hour  in  the  direction  that  the  ship 
was  going  under  wind  and  steam,  I saw,  where  the  sea  and 
sky  came  together,  a little  blue — not  green— streak  that  upon 
the  word  of  that  sailor  I agreed  was  Ireland — Erin  Mavour- 
neen,  Erin  gobrah;  the  place  where  the  “harp  once  hung  in- 
Tarah’s  hall.’’ 

“’Tis  believed  that  this  harp  whidi  I now  wake  I'oi’  tliee. 

Was  a Siren  of  old,  who  lived  under  the  sea. 

And  who  often,  at  midnight,  through  the  dark  billows  roved. 

To  meet,  on  the  green  shore,  a youth  whom  she  loved. 

But  she  loved  him  in  vain,  for  he  left  her  to  weep. 

And,  in  tears,  all  the  night,  her  gold  ringlets  to  steep, 

’Till  lieaven  looked  with  pity  on  true  love  so  warm. 

And  changed  to  the  soft  harp  the  sea  maiden’s  form. 

-je-  ********* 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


119 


And  her  hair,  shedding  dew-drops  from  all  its  bright  rings, 

Fell  over  her  white  arms  to  make  the  gold  strings.” 

Finally  the  little  sail-boat,  with  the  special  pilot,  came 
alongside,  and  we  took  him  aboard  with  a rope  ladder  longer 
and  stronger  than  that  which  “Juliet”  throws  to  “Romeo”  in 
the  play,  and  when  that  pilot  stepped  aboard  and  strode  the 
deck  so  much  like  a Neptune  just  out  of  the  .sea,  that  I almost 
looked  for  the  tines  of  his  trident  sticking  out  from  under 
the  tail  of  his  big  gum  coat,  the  captain  of  that  ship  who  had 
until  then  seemed  to  us  like  a demi-god, 

“Monarch  of  all  he  surveyed 
While  his  right  there  was  done  to  dispute,” 

Doffed  his  gold  laced  cap  to  the  supplanting  demi-god  and  was 
as  docile  as  Mary’s  lamb;  and  while  we  went  up  in  the  mouth 
of  the  river,  at  Liverpool,  I,  watching  that  pilot,  thought  of 
Tom  Hood’s  lines, 

“That  Mersey  I to  others  show 
That  Mersey  show  to  me.” 

The  average  tourist  elaborates  the  “docks  of  Liverpool”  — 
no  kin  to  the  burdocks  of  Kentucky — but  the  thing  that  most 
interested  me  in  all  of  Liverpool  was  a life-sized  bronze  statue 
of  Godiva  as  she  rode  “clothed  on  with  chastity,”  on  her 
horse  through  Coveutr}';  and  as  I afterwards  walked  through 
Coventry,  and  saw  where  “Peeping  Tom”  had  lived,  I could 
not  keep  from  feeling  that  possibly  the  day  would  be  when 
Tom  would  have  a monument  to  his  memory  as  being  the 
most  gallant  man  who  ever  lived  in  the  town.  A fellow  pris- 
oner here  with  me,  lived  in  Coventry,  and  he  told  me  with  a 
touching  zest  the  story  of  Tom  and  Godiva.  Poor  fellow;  he 
is  further  from  home  than  I am!  I spent  two  or  three  days  of 
the  time  I was  at  Liverpool  writing  a letter  of  seventy  fools- 
cap pages  to  ni}"  mother.  I believe  I have  told  you  that  I was 
still  dressed  in  the  black  broad  cloth  suit  that  was  a combina- 
tion of  a clergyman’s  dress  and  a pedestrian  tourist’s  garb;  the 
nicely  fitting  gaiters,  from  the  knees  down,  giving  a prettj' 
shapely  outline  to  my  nether  limbs. 

One  day  I w'alked  into  a gorgeous  building,  on  the  main 


120 


BEHIND  THE  BAES ; 31498. 


portal  of  which  was  a beautiful  sign  that  simpl}^  said  “Ba- 
zaar.” I had  no  idea  what  it  meant,  but  when  I got  into  it 
there  swarmed  over  me  flocks,  bevies,  coteries,  squads  and 
platoons  of  young  women,  who  were  selected  because  they 
were  the  most  beautiful  in  England.  Liverpool,  London  and 
Paris  are  places  of  many  strange  and  often  unique  costumes, 
but  those  ymung  women  did  not  seem  to  have  ever  before  gone 
up  again.st  anything  exactly  like  my  get-up.  Whether  they 
took  me  for  .some  strange  cleric,  or  young  lord  in  disguise,  or 
some  nondescript  incog  curio  of  the  genus  homo,  I dont 
know,  but  they  came  to  me  like  steel  fllings  to  a big  hor.se-shoe 
magnet.  It  seemed  to  me  like  I was  dreaming  and  had  gone 
into  some 

“Bank  whereon  the  wild  tliyme  blows. 

Where  ox-lips  and  tlie  nodding  violet  grows, 

Where  sleeps  the  fairy  queen,” 

And  that  these  were  her  legions  armed  with  smiles  and  ca- 
res.ses  more  potent  on  man  than  the  bows  and  arrows  of  the 
Amazons.  It  proved  to  be  a church  fair. 

Another  day  I was  w'alking  in  a handsome  place  on  a 
street  in  Liverpool,  where  there  were  not  a great  man}^  people 
passing,  when  I met  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  exquisitely 
formed  women  I had  ever  seen,  dressed  in  faultless  taste  that 
was  a little  matronly,  she  being  apparently  about  thirty  y'ears 
old.  When  she  was  in  ten  feet  of  me  her  handsome  eyes  took 
me  in  from  head  to  foot,  and  .she  said,  most  charmingly, 
“You  have  a handsomq  leg,  sir.”  I glanced  down  at  my 
right  leg  and  said,  “Very  good,  madame,  for  practical  pur- 
po.ses,”  and  I never  stopped. 

And  still  I dont  believe  that  .story  about  Joseph  and  Mrs. 
Potiphar  occurred  just  as  we  have  it  on  record.  It  may"  be 
becau.se  I know  .some  Jews.  They  are  not  built  that  way. 
One  da^'  in  Liverpool  a pretty"  woman  accidentally  jabbed  me 
with  her  para.sol,  and  blmshingly  and  beautifully  apologized. 
I relieved  her  embarrassment  as  gallantly"  as  I could.  It  w"as 
not  long  before  just  such  another  parasol  accident  occurred. 
I was  surprised  at  the  repetition  of  the  accident,  but  was 
equal  to  the  occasion  and  accepted  the  apology  gracefully. 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


121 


When  it  occurred  the  third  time,  with  the  same  pretty 
apology,  I began  to  calculate  some  on  the  laws  of  chances, 
and  an  element  of  doubt  entered  my  mind.  The  fourth,  fifth 
and  sixth  occurrences  of  the  parasol  accident  Vvdth  the  same 
accompanying  phenomena,  eliminated  all  element  of  chance 
from  my  calculation,  and,  after  that,  whenever  I saw  an  un- 
usually pretty  woman  coming  with  a parasol  in  her  hand,  I 
walked  clear  around  her,  like  you  would  an  open  coal  hole  in 
in  the  pavement. 

As  I walked  out  of  Liverpool,  one  charming  Ma}"  morn- 
ing, and  took  the  road  toward  London,  I thought  about 
“Turn  back,  Whittington,’’  and  Mother  Goose’s  bo}’’,  where 

“The  rats  and  the  mice  kept  such  a strife. 

That  he  had  to  go  to  London,  to  buy  him  a wife,” 

And  all  the  strange  things  that  I knew  in  history  and  story 
that  had  occurred  on  the  road  to  London. 

I have  to  this  day  two  dreams  that  I am  liable  to  have 
any  time  I go  to  sleep  troubled.  One  is  that  I am  at  college 
and  do  not  know  mj^  lesson  and  can’t  learn  well,  and  then  I 
remember  that  I have,  once  before,  been  at  college  and  have 
graduated,  and  I conclude  to  go  home;  and  the  other  is  that  I 
am  walking  into  London,  and  that  after  I thought  I was  in 
the  suburbs  of  the  great  city,  I walked  all  daj^  without  being 
able  to  find  the  city,  as  actually  occurred. 

All  along  the  wonderful  turnpike  from  Ifiverpool  to  Lon- 
don there  are  most  charming  inns,  at  which  I would  stop 
every  night.  In  nearly  all  of  these  there  would  be  each 
night  a club  meeting  of  some  gentlemen,  all  in  their  dress  at- 
tire, occup3'ing  a parlor  and  smoking  pipes  and  drinking  beer, 
stout  and  ale.  They  were  exceedingh'  orderly,  and  without 
any  effort  on  m^^  part,  I would,  two  or  three  times  a week, 
be  invited  into  the.se  clubs  with  such  earnestness  that  it  almost 
required  that  I should  be  rude  to  decline  them.  Pipes  and 
tobacco  were  in  abundance  for  all  on  a table  in  the  centre,  the 
pipes  being  those  with  the  long  and  graceful  stem  that  }^ou 
see  “Uncle  Toby’’  poise  on  his  knee  as  he  looks  for  the  mote 
in  the  widow’s  eye  in  the  statuary"  in  Dusseldorf  gallerJ^  I 
smoked  there,  but  never  drank  anything,  except  when,  occa- 


122 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


sionally,  after  having  declined  all  the  regular  card  of  drinks, 
they  would  find  I would  drink  cider,  and  get  me  some. 
Every  time,  at  these  club  rooms  they  would  lionize  me  and 
make  me  the  center  of  attraction  telling  about  things  in  my 
country.  The  ho.spitality  and  cordiality  that  were  .shown  me 
clear  across  England  were  remarkable,  and  especially  as  I 
had  nothing  to  introduce  me  to  anybody. 

One  evening  I stopped  at  a pretty  inn,  in  the  country, 
about  six  o’clock,  and  had  fixed  myself  to  rest  in  a chair  that 
I had  taken  out  into  the  grounds.  Off  at  a distance  of  fifty 
j'ards  there  was  a gay  and  happy  looking  party  of  about 
twenty  young  people,  about  equally  representing  each  sex,  all 
laughing  and  talking.  I had  not  been  there  more  than  fifteen 
minutes  before  three  beautiful  girls  and  three  nice  young  men 
escorts  got  up  from  where  they  were  sitting  on  the  grass  and 
started  so  that  I could  see  plainly  that  they  were  coming  to 
see  me.  When  they  got  to  me  one  of  the  young  ladies  told 
me,  with  exqui.site  grace  and  modesty,  that  their  party  had 
chartered  a car — “carriage,”  they  called  it — and  would  be 
glad  to  have  me  go,  as  their  guest,  with  them  that  night  on 
the  railway  a distance  of  about  twenty  miles  to  hear  a night- 
ingale sing.  She  did  this  without  any  possible  clue  to  my 
identity.  I excused  myself,  to  their  evident  disappointment, 
by  telling  them  that  I was  traveling  as  a pedestrian  and  had 
determined  not  to  ride  in  any  way.  I gave  them  a little  in- 
troductory sketch  of  my  personality  and  then  asked  them  to 
give  me  the  particulars  of  their  going  to  hear  a nightingale 
sing  that  they  said  was  loose  in  the  forest,  and  which,  there- 
fore, did  not  seem  to  me  certain  to  carry  out  this  part  of  the 
program.  They  explained  to  me  that  though  nightingales 
were  common  in  Southern  Europe,  and  more  common  in 
Southern  England,  they  were  very  rare  where  we  were,  and 
that  when  they  came  to  any  part  of  the  country  there,  the 
people  would  take  great  pains  to  hear  them;  that  the  habit  of 
each  nightingale  singer  was  to  come  to  a certain  tree  each 
year  and  that  he  would  sit  in  that  same  tree  and  sing  from 
night  to  night,  while  the  3"oung  people  danced  to  music  under 
the  tree. 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  ; 31498. 


123 


One  day,  about  the  middle  of  the  evening,  I came  to  one 
of  the  several  palaces  of  the  Duke  of  Sutherland.  The  Duke 
was  not  there  and  the  palace  was  closed.  The  grounds  at- 
tached to  the  palace  were  so  extensive  that  I could  see  no 
kind  of  a wall,  fence,  hedge  or  dike  in  any  direction,  and  they 
were  marvelously  beautified  with  trees,  flowers  and  fruits,  the 
last  being  in  all  stages,  from  bloom  to  luscious  maturity,  un- 
der glass.  Through  the  grounds  were  fountains,  lakes,  stat- 
uary, deer  and  swans.  In  the  grounds,  about  a hundred 
yards  from  the  palace,  there  was  an  exquisite  cottage  of  six 
or  seven  rooms,  the  only  occupant  of  which  was  a young  man 
about  my  age — twenty-five — who  lived  there  in  charge  of  all 
that  vast  estate.  I gave  him  an  outline  of  my  plans,  and  he 
listened  with  a most  rapt  interest.  He  said  he  lived  there 
alone,  and  he  so  felt  that  he  would  enjoy  my  companionship 
that  he  would  be  delighted  to  give  me  a home  there  in  his 
house  and  supply  me  with  every  comfort  without  any  cost  to 
me,  and  that  sometime,  in  the  future,  if  I still  cared  to  do  so, 
I might  make  my  tour  fo  Palestine.  He  had  a nice  meal  pre- 
pared for  me,  showed  me  what  a lovely  room  he  would  give 
me,  told  me  I could  have  unlimited  access  to  the  Duke’s 
library  and  private  galleries  when  the  Duke  was  away,  which 
was  a great  part  af  the  time,  and  he  begged  me  like  a child  to 
stay  with  him.  I told  him  I was  walking  and  had  determined 
to  reach  a certain  town  by  a certain  time.  He  said  to  me  if  I 
felt  that  I was  under  any  vow  to  do  just  that,  that  I might 
go  on,  on  foot,  as  I was,  and  that  if,  when  I got  there,  I 
would  drop  him  a note  he  would  come  for  me  on  a train  and 
bring  me  back;  but  I declined  this  because  I was  not  going  to 
ride  on  a train.  I cannot  see,  any  plainer  than  you  can,  why 
he  should  be  so  infatuated  with  the  idea  of  having  me  to  live 
with  him,  but  such  seemed  to  be  the  case.  He  gave  up  his 
time  to  showing  me  the  features  of  interest  about  the  place, 
and  seemed  deeply  disappointed  when  I bade  him  good-bye. 

One  time  I had  intended  from  what  someone  told  me  to 
stop  at  an  inn  called  the  “Prince’s  Feathers,’’  in  a small  town 
the  name  of  which  I forget.  When  I got  there,  about  six 
o’clock  in  the  evening,  the  proprietor  told  me  his  house  was 


124 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


so  full  of  soldiers  that  he  could  not  eutertain  me,  and  I found 
that  every  inn  in  the  town  was  full  of  soldiers.  I walked  on 
out  of  the  town,  and  soon  learned  that  there  was  a nice  inn 
on  the  road  about  three  miles  from  the  town,  and  I intended 
to  stop  there.  When  I was  within  a half  mile  of  the  inn  I 
came  to  the  porter’s  lodge  at  the  entrance  of  the  spacious  and 
elegant  grounds  of  one  of  the  magnificent  homes  in  which 
the  aristocracy  live,  and  I noticed  what  I had  never  seen 
before,  that  the  great  gate  was  standing  open  and  that  there 
was  nobody  in  sight  that  was  in  charge.  As  quick  as  a flash 
I determined  to  try  to  stay  through  the  night  at  that  elegant 
establishment  as  the  guest  of  the  people  whose  names  I did 
not  know,  and  without  slackening  my  pace,  I marched  like  a 
.soldier,  right  through  that  gate  and  turned  up  the  elegant 
broad  roadway  that  meandered  beautifully  to  the  house.  I 
expected  every  second  to  be  ordered  to  halt,  but  did  not  in- 
tend to  stop,  and  no  one  interrupted  me.  I walked  to  the 
main  front  door  auvd  was  met  by  a handsomely  dressed  and 
personally  handsome  female  domestic,  instead  of  a liveried 
man  as  I had  expected  to  see.  I was  sufficiently  self-po.ssessed 
not  to  suppose  the  handsome  woman  was  a member  of  the 
family,  and,  on  that  suppo.sitioii,  said  I wanted  to  see  the 
proprietor.  She  involuntarily  scanned  me  in  an  instant  from 
head  to  foot,  including  my  knapsack  and  somewhat  dusty 
gaiters,  and  .said:  “The  master  is  in  the  garden;  I will  call 
him.’’  I left  the  door,  walked  out  in  front  of  the  hou.se  about 
twenty  .steps,  and  .stood  waiting  for  him.  In  five  minutes  he 
came  sauntering  around  an  end  of  the  hou.se,  bare-headed, 
and  in  a luxurious  looking  robe  of  handsome  bright  colored 
material.  I told  him  ni}^  name,  and  that  I was  an  American, 
and  related  the  circnni .stances  to  him  just  as  I have  done  to 
you,  and  told  him  that  I liad  come  to  ask  to  be  his  guest 
through  the  night.  He  looked  at  me  with  a combination  of 
earnestness  and  quizzicality,  but  with  a rea.sonable  amount  of 
kindness,  but  as  if  he  was  put  to  it  to  know  just  what  to 
say;  but  he  finally  said:  “But  T don’t  know  you,’’  and  I 
said:  “And  I don’t  know  you  either.’’  He  then  .said:  “But 
you  might  cut  my  throat;’’  and  I said:  “And  you  might  cut 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


12!j 


my  throat;  but  I am  willing  to  take  the  chances.”  He  hesi- 
tated, and  I turned  around  slowly  and  walked  very  slowlj' 
back  towai'd  the  gate.  He  followed  me  like  a man  who  was 
unpleasantly  hesitating  as  to  what  he  should  say  or  do.  I 
said  to  him:  ‘‘I  know  the  circumstances  are  peculiar,  but  I 
am  assuming  that  }"ou  are  a man  of  sufficient  intelligence  to 
understand  that  I am  not  a fraud,  and  I am  only  asking  j^ou 
to  do  for  me  what  I would  gladl}^  do  for  you  in  my  country, 
were  the  circumstances  reversed.  But  you  need  give  yourself 
no  further  trouble;  I am  going  to  unstrap  this  shawl  from  my 
knapsack,  wrap  it  around  me  and  sleep  under  the  hedge  on 
the  public  road,  opposite  your  house,  and  during  the  night 
you  may  think  of  this.”  At  the  close  of  these  words  I 
politely  bade  him  ‘ ‘good-night,”  and  started,  in  1113-  regular 
marching  gait  for  the  gate.  I had  not  gone  more  than  twent>" 
steps  before  he  called  to  me  and  said;  ‘‘Wait  a minute;  let  me 
go  and  talk  to  my  wife  about  it.”  I stopped;  turned  toward 
him  and  waited,  while  he  went  back  rather  hurriedly  to  the 
house.  He  came  back  in  a few  minutes,  with  a pleasant  ex- 
pression on  his  face,  and  I went  to  meet  him.  He  .said  that 
he  and  his  wife  would  be  glad  to  entertain  me,  and  he  gave 
me  a most  cordial  invitation  into  his  house.  They  had  just 
finished  their  meal  as  I came,  and  they  had  a nice  one  set  for 
me,  on  a beautiful  round  table  in  an  elegant  room.  He  left 
me  to  eat  alone,  but  when  I had  finished  in}^  meal,  he  itivited 
me  into  another  room  and  introduced  me  to  his  wife  and 
daughter,  the  wife  apparently  about  thirt3'-five  years  old  and 
the  daughter  about  seventeen,  both  ver>’  handsome  and  very 
elegant. 

The  twilights  there  are  ver}'’  much  longer  than  in  Ken- 
tucky. When  we  had  all  talked  together  .some  time,  the 
daughter  invited  me  to  walk  out  into  the  garden  with  her, 
and  we  went  together  and  .spent  the  time  in  that  garden,  a 
hundred  yards  from  the  house,  walking,  sitting  and  talking 
until  twelve  o’clock  at  night.  In  American  politics  the  gen- 
tleman was  such  a rabid  Federalist  that  he  and  I could  not 
di.scuss  the  matter  pleasantly,  and  he  dismissed  it  by  saying 
that  in  the  morning  at  breakfast  he  would  have  with  us  his 


126 


BEHIND  THE  BARS : 31498. 


wife’s  brother,  who  was  an  officer  in  Her  Majesty’s  army, 
and  that  he  and  I would  agree  in  politics.  I met  him,  at 
breakfast,  magnificently  dressed  in  fnll  uniform,  and  he  and  I 
were  thoroughly  congenial  in  politics.  When  I announced 
that  I was  ready  to  start,  the  gentleman,  whose  name  I have 
forgotten,  though  he  gave  me  his  card,  asked  me  to  wait  a 
few  minutes  longer,  until  he  gave  me  a letter  of  introduction 
that  would  insure  my  cordial  reception  at  the  homes  of  a list 
of  friends  who.se  addre.sses  it  contained,  and  who  lived  along 
my  route  to  London.  He  made  me  promise  that  I would 
write  to  him,  but  I lost  his  address  and  have  never  done  so. 
I was  curious  to  see  if  his  letter  would  do  for  me  what  he  had 
said  it  would,  and  presented  it  only  one  time,  at  a very  hand- 
some establishment.  It  gave  me  a most  hospitable  reception 
without  a moment’s  hesitancy.  Can  it  be  possible  that,  some 
day,  when  this  appears  in  a book,  a copy  of  it  may  stray  to 
.somebody  who  will  recall  this  incident,  and  somebodj^  will 
write  me  whether  that  pretty  girl  died  years  ago,  or  is  now  a 
living  grand-mother  ? 

In  Oxford  I had  been  walking  all  the  morning  looking  at 
that  city  of  colleges.  I had  been  through  the  Bodleyan  Li- 
brary with  its  1,500,000  volumes,  and  I had  stood  a good 
while  at  the  crossed  stones  in  the  street  that  marked  the  spot 
where  Christians  had  burned  at  the  stake,  for  heresy,  Rogers, 
Latimer  and  Ridley,  who  were  Christian  preachers.  Suppose 
somebody  then  had  told  me  that  I would  live  to  be  put  in 
prison  three  times  for  my  religious  convictions,  in  my  own 
country,  the  Constitution  of  which  says:  “Congress  shall 

make  no  law  respecting  an  establishment  of  religion,  or  for- 
bidding the  free  exercise  thereof,’’  could  I have  imagined  how 
it  would  come  about  ? 

I went  into  the  parlor  of  a beautiful  inn,  and,  no  one  else 
being  present,  I stretched  myself  full  length  on  a Russia 
leather  covered  sofa,  and  put  my  broad-brimmed  hat  over  my 
face  to  take  a nap.  A couple  of  people,  who  proved  to  be  a 
gentleman  and  his  wife,  apparently  respectively  about  forty 
and  thirty-five  years  old,  came  in  and  took  seats  at  a table 
and  called  for  bitter  ale.  Their  talk  aroused  me,  but  I lay 


BEHIND  THE  BaBS  ; 31498. 


127 


still  and  could  see  them  from  under  my  hat.  They  seemed  to 
talk  as  if  they  were  on  .some  kind  of  an  outing,  and  Oxford 
was  on  their  route,  and  as  there  were  only  us  there  in  the 
room  I became  interested  in  their  conversation.  They  were 
handsomely  dressed,  ever3hhing  indicating  that  the}'  were  peo- 
ple of  wealth,  and  they  were  each  handsome  and  splendid 
specimens  of  English  health.  They  talked  just  as  if  they 
thought  I w'as  asleep.  Finally  the  man  said,  evidently  allud- 
ing to  me,  “I  will  wager  that  that  man  there  is  an  American, 
and  from  the  Southern  States.”  They  talked  on  a few  min- 
utes longer,  and  I got  up,  and,  bowing  to  the  two,  told  them 
that  I had  heard  what  he  said  about  me,  and  that  I was  curi- 
ous to  know  how  he  could  tell  that  I came  from  the  Southern 
States  of  the  United  States.  He  said  he  knew'  by  the  broad 
brimmed  hat  I wore.  He  motioned  to  me  to  sit  down  to  the 
table  with  them  and  I did  so,  and  he  at  once  called  the  w'aiter 
and  asked  what  I would  drink.  I declined  all  kinds  of  ordi- 
nary drinks,  and  that  seemed  to  surprise  him.  He  w'ent  over 
the  whole  list  of  drinks  that  he  could  think  of,  and  finally 
when  he  came  to  “cider,”  I said,  “Yes,  if  I had  some  cider 
I would  drink  it.  ’ ’ He  said  he  did  not  know  w'hether  they 
had  it  there,  but  he  w'ould  go  out  and  see  if  it  could  be  got- 
ten. He  soon  came  back  with  some  delicious  cider,  and, 
thanking  him,  I sat  w'ith  them  and  drank  it.  They  were  an 
exceedingly  interesting  couple  of  people  and  w'ere  evidently 
taking  a most  remarkable  interest  in  me.  After  awhile  they 
began  to  talk  to  each  other  so  that  I could  hear  perfectly 
plainl}'  all  that  they  were  saying,  but  I could  not  understand 
its  purport,  as  it  alluded  to  matters  between  themselves  of 
which  I had  no  knowledge.  They  talked  that  w'ay,  quite  ear- 
nestly, for  about  five  minutes,  ignoring  my  presence,  and 
seeming  to  agree  heartily  in  the  matter  they  w'ere  discussing. 
When  they  had  evidently  agreed  about  the  matter  they  were 
discussing,  the  man  turned  to  me  and  said  about  as  follows: 
“My  wife  and  I are  w'ealthy  people  and  we  have  no  children, 
and  it  is  not  my  fault  that  w'e  have  none,”  and  the  lady  said: 
“And  I’m  sure  that  it’s  not  my  fault;”  and  just  then  he  w'ent 
into  the  ofiice  to  pay  the  bill.  It  would  have  been  embarrass- 


128 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


ing  to  me,  except  that  their  manner  seemed  to  indicate  that 
they  were  merely  talking  candil_v  and  plainly.  In  a few  min- 
utes the  man  came  back  and  resumed  his  talk  about  as  fobows; 
“We  have  everything  in  the  world  to  make  us  enjoj'  life,  ex- 
cept that  we  have  no  children,  and  for  several  years  we  have 
been  on  the  lookout  for  some  young  man  who  .seemed  to  be 
our  ideal,  and  we  wanted  to  adopt  him  as  our  son.  We  have 
met  you  here  as  you  see,  never  having  known  anything  about 
you  before.  We  are  traveling  with  a horse  and  trap,  just  in 
search  of  adventures,  and  are  ready  to  go  anywhere,  at  an\- 
time.  We  have  agreed  that  you  are  the  young  man  we  are 
looking  for,  and  we  are  willing  to  risk  our  judgments,  and  we 
want  5'ou  to  come  and  live  with  us  at  our  home,  near  New- 
stead  Abbey,  where  Byron,  for  whom  you  express  such  ad- 
miration, is  buried,  and  you  can  go  to  his  grave  every  day  if 
you  want  to.  I will  put  at  your  dispo.sal  horses,  guns,  and 
hunting  and  fishing  privileges,  and  I don’t  want  you  to  do 
anything  in  the  world  except  to  be  happy  yourself  and  try  to 
make  us  .so  by  talking  to  us,  just  as  you  have  done  here,  and 
otherwise  as  your  judgment  may  suggest.  You  have  ex- 
pressed a desire  to  see  Stonehenge,  in  the  southern  part  of 
England,  and  we  w'ant  you  to  have  lunch  with  us  here,  and 
all  at  our  own  expense,  and  we  want  you  then,  this  afternoon, 
to  get  in  our  trap  with  us,  and  we  will  start  to  Stonehenge, 
and  then  we  will  travel  all  over  England  just  the  same  way, 
and  we  will  not  go  back  to  our  home  until  you  say  so,  and  I 
will  order  you  a whole  barrel  of  cider  from  here,  and  then 
order  another  one  as  soon  as  you  drink  that  up.  ’ ’ 

The  lady  was  evidently  just  as  earnest  in  the  request  as 
the  man  was,  and  by  her  appearance,  and  an  occasional  sen- 
tence, .sanctioned  all  that  he  said.  Their  proposition  was  so 
unusual  that  it  was  hard  for  me  to  divest  myself  of  the  sug- 
gestion that  there  must  be  some  sinister  scheme  back  of  it  all. 
They  seemed  to  realize  that  I would  naturally  smspect  that 
and  they  evidently  courted  investigation.  I felt  grateful  and 
complimented  if  they  were  true  people,  and,  of  course,  in- 
dignant if  they  were  frauds;  but  I could  not  see  why  they 
should  have  any  designs  on  me.  I did  not  attempt  to  hide 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


129 


my  perplexity,  and,  getting  up,  rather  abruptly,  I went  to 
the  proprietor  of  the  eminently  lespectable  house  that  we 
were  in  and  gave  him  an  outline  of  what  had  just  occurred  in 
one  of  his  parlors,  and  he  gave  me  every  assurance  that  the 
people  were  just  what  they  professed  to  be.  So  far  from  be- 
ing disconcerted  bj’  my  suspicions,  the  man  and  his  wife 
seemed  to  give  me  credit  for  my  precaution,  and  said  the}’ 
would  stay  right  there,  in  Oxford,  until  I had  had  all  the 
time  and  opportunit}^  that  I asked  to  assure  myself  about 
them.  Finally,  however,  after  thanking  them  for  a kindness 
that  I had  concluded  was  genuine,  I explained  to  them  why 
it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  accept  their  offer,  and  when 
they  shook  hands  with  me,  in  parting,  they  both  looked  like 
people  who  had  undergone  disappointment. 

I had  a little  adventure  at  Kennilworth  Castle.  I had 
inherited  my  father’s  admiration  for  Sir  Walter  Scott,  and  his 
“Kennilworth”  was  deeply  impressed  upon  m}^  mind.  It  had 
been  my  expectation  to  get  to  the  village,  in  the  edge  of 
which  Kennilworth  is,  after  dark,  and  not  to  see  the  castle 
until  the  next  day,  but  when  I found  I would  get  there  a lit- 
tle before  night,  I became  very  anxious  to  get  a glance  at  it 
before  I went  to  bed.  I hurried  to  the  gate  in  the  wall  around 
the  ruins  of  the  castle  and  asked  for  admission,  but  was  told 
that  I was  too  late,  and  could  not  get  in  until  next  day.  I 
saw  through  the  open  gate  a gentleman  and  lady  walking 
along  slowly  toward  the  gate  to  come  out,  and  upon  my  assur- 
ing the  porter  that  I would  only  go  so  far  as  to  meet  them 
and  come  out  with  them  he  allowed  me  to  do  so.  But  the 
few  minutes  that  I had  to  stay  in  there  only  increased  my  de- 
sire to  see  more  of  it  that  night.  I ate  my  supper  and  began 
to  walk  around  the  outside  of  the  walls  and  the  ditch  which 
is  outside  the  walls.  The  ditch  had  been  filled  until  it  looked 
like  the  ancient  “fortification”  that  I have  told  you  of  at  my 
Kentucky  home.  Grass  and  even  large  trees  were  growing 
in  the  bottom  of  it,  I came  to  a place  where  a tree,  that 
seemed  easy  to  climb,  grew  close  to  the  wall,  and  I climbed 
the  tree  up  as  high  as  the  top  of  the  wall,  which  was  about 
twenty-five  feet,  so  that  I might  look  over  into  the  grounds. 


/ 


130  BEHIND  THE  BAES  ;1498. 

The  tree  was  so  small  that  it  bent  slightly  by  my  weight  to- 
ward the  wall,  I not  noticing  that  it  was  bending.  When  I 
got  to  the  top  of  the  wall  I carefully  got  off  onto  the  top  of 
it,  and  the  tree  sprang  back  to  its  natural  position  so  that  I 
could  not  reach  it.  The  stones  were  loose  on  top  of  the  wall, 
and  there  was  great  danger  of  their  falling  if  I moved  much, 
so  that  I sat  astride  of  the  top  of  the  wall  and  began  to  con- 
sider whether  I should  stay  there  for  the  night,  or  call  for 
help.  Soon  I heard  what  I recognized  as  being  the  sound  of 
a hoe,  with  which  someone  was  digging  inside  of  the  enclos- 
ure, and,  dark,  as  it  was,  the  man  was  working  in  a garden. 
I thought  of  what  S.  S.  Prentiss  had  said  about  the  Tarpeian 
rock  being  a cabbage  garden.  I called,  and  the  man  with 
the  hoe  answered  me,  and  came  to  the  part  of  the  wall  where 
I was.  I told  him  my  story  and  he  went  and  got  a ladder 
and  put  it  up  to  me,  and  I got  down  on  the  inside  of  the  cas- 
tle grounds,  and  he  led  me  to  the  gate  and  let  me  out. 

Next  day  was  spent  mostly  among  the  ruins  of  the  ca.stle. 
There  were  holes  in  its  walls  that  had  been  made  by  the  very 
primitive  cannon  of  Oliver  Cromwell.  There  were  sheep  in 
the  grounds,  and  a number  of  them  started  and  ran  out  of  a 
large  fire-place,  in  front  of  which  I supposed  that  once  Queen 
Elizabeth,  called  “good  Queen  Be.ss,’’  because  .she  was  so  bad, 
had  sat  with  Shakespeare  and  Leicester,  and  probably  sighed 
in  sympathy  when  the  “Bard  of  Avon’’  read  “Romeo  and 
Juliet’’  and  “Anthony  and  Cleopatra,’’  or  laughed  at  the  sto- 
ries of  Falstaff  and  Bardolf  and  the  doings  of  the  “Merry 
Wives  of  Windsor.’’ 

The  two  things  that  I now  remember  plainest  about  Ken- 
nilworth  castle  are  a winding  stairway,  all  in  stone,  and  across 
which  there  was  so  large  a crack  that  it  took  a special  effort 
to  step  over  it,  and  on  the  next  step,  as  you  go  up,  so  many 
people  had  stepped  through  the  long  years,  all  having  to  step 
just  in  one  place,  that  there  was  a deep  impression  of  a shoe 
in  the  rather  soft  rock;  and  the  other  thing  was  the  largest 
iv3^  I have  ever  seen.  It  grew  to  the  highest  part  of  the  cas- 
tle wall,  and  was  so  large  that  I could  only  reach  about  two. 
thirds  of  the  distance  around  the  body  of  it.  Kennilworth  is 
so  in  ruins  that  there  is  but  little  to  be  seen  there. 


\ 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


131 


One  day  I came  to  Bardolf  castle,  pronounced  Biddell,  in 
keeping  with  the  English  disposition  to  pronounce  all  the 
names  of  their  places  wrong.  In  the  town  near  Bardolf  cas- 
tle I met  a nice  looking  young  policeman  and  asked  him  how 
to  get  to  the  castle  and  .some  other  questions  about  it,  and  he 
said  I must  wait  a few  minutes  until  his  duties  for  the  day 
would  be  over,  and  that  he  would  put  ou  his  citizen’s  clothes 
and  go  with  me  to  the  castle.  During  the  quarter  of  an  hour 
that  I talked  wdth  him  I found  that  the  girl  who  was  the 
guide  to  the  strangers  who  visited  the  castle  was  his  sweet- 
heart, and  that  he  was  glad  of  any  opportunity  to  go  there. 
When  he  had  donned  his  citizen’s  dress  we  walked  to  the  cas- 
tle, about  a mile  away,  and  his  best  girl  came  to  meet  us  as 
guide.  She  was  quite  prett3’  and  bright,  and  I was  intro- 
duced to  her.  The  fact  that  her  beau  was  with  me  gave  me 
advantages  over  the  ordinary'  tourist.  I told  her  that  I had 
been  to  a lot  of  old  castles  where  men  and  old  women  had 
told  me  about  them,  and  that  I was  tired  of  that  kind  of  talk 
and  didn’t  want  to  know  anything  about  the  history  of  that 
one  and  would  rather  hear  her  talk  about  something  unpro- 
fessional. She  was  glad  enough  to  vary  her  routine  duties 
and  we  had  a good  deal  of  fun  there.  Old  Oliver  Cromwell, 
who  was  either  a grand  old  patriot  and  broad-minded,  ad- 
vanced and  conscientious  thinker,  or  one  of  the  biggest  old 
religious  hypocrites  and  villains  that  ever  was  born,  I never 
could  decide  which,  had  never  brought  his  famous  old  can- 
non, “Black  Betsy,’’  to  bear  upon  the  walls  of  Bardolf  castle, 
and  it  was  in  a good  state  of  preservation. 

There  was  in  one  room,  in  which  Queen  Elizabeth  had 
slept,  when  she  used  to  visit  there,  an  interesting  collection  of 
relics,  including  the  quaint  bedstead  in  which  “good  Queen 
Bess’’  had  slept.  There  was,  hanging  on  the  wall  of  this 
room,  the  armor  of  Edward,  the  Black  Prince.  I remembered 
the  pictures  in  history  of  Edward  riding  along  by  the  side  of 
the  French  King,  Henry,  that  he  had  captured,  and  that  Ed- 
ward looked  like  a little  boy  riding  with  his  large  and  impos- 
ing looking  father,  and  yet,  though  I was  only  a little  under 
six  feet,  there  was  Edward’s  reputed  armor  that  seemed  to  be 


l32  BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 

large  enough  for  me.  I pushed  a table,  three  or  four  hun- 
dred years  old,  up  to  the  wall  under  Edward’s  armor,  and  got 
the  whole  outfit  down,  .sword,  spurs  and  all,  piece  at  a time, 
and  proceeded  to  put  them  on,  the  young  fellow  and  the  girl 
laughing,  but  helping  me,  as  always  had  to  be  done  for  the 
original  owners  of  tho.se  iron  uniforms.  I knew  that  they 
were  often  so  heavy  and  thick  that  unhoused  and  fallen’kuights 
frequently  had  to  be  helped  up  and  -lifted  upon  their  chargers, 
and  I thought  of  “Don  Quixote’’,  “Ro.sinante,”  “Sancho 
Panzo,’’  Flodden  Field,  and  Agincourt,  Joan  of  Arc  and 
Rheims  all  mixed  up  together;  but  I was,  after  all,  astonished 
at  the  weight  of  this  armor.  When  I had  gotten  into  it  all, 
finishing  my  toilet  by  putting  on  the  helmet  and  pulling  the 
visor  down  before  my  face,  and  started  to  walk,  my  steps 
sounded  like  those  of  the  “Galatea’’  you  have  seen  and 
heard  on  the  stage,  before  the  marble  had  fully  warmed  into 
life  under  the  chi.sel  of  Pygmalion. 

There  was  such  a suffocating  feeling  about  it,  and  the 
chains  and  hinges  about  the  thing  clanked  and  screeched  so, 
and  there  was  something  .so  weird  and  ghostly  about  my  gen- 
eral get-up  that  I felt  almost  frightened  at  my  own  appear- 
ance. I told  the  girl  that  1 wanted  to  stay  at  that  castle  that 
night  and  sleep  on  the  bedstead  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  She 
laughed  and  said  there  was  no  bed-clothing  for  it,  and  seemed 
to  think  I was  joking.  I told  her  that  I was  in  earnest  and 
that  I would  pay  extra  for  the  privilege,  and  that  I would 
use  my  knapsack  and  traveling  blanket  for  bed-clothes.  After 
I persuaded  her  that  I was  very  much  in  earnest  in  my  desire 
.to  .sleep  in,  or  on.  Queen  Elizabeth’s  bed  that  night,  she 
.seemed  to  sympathize  with  me  in  my  romantic  idea,  and  said 
if  we  would  wait  there  she  would  go  and  bring  her  mother 
and  that  she  would  tell  me  about  it.  She  ran  off  and  in  ten 
minutes  came  back  with  her  mother.  After  a little  persuasion 
the  mother  agreed  to  let  me  .sleep  in  that  bed.  I then  began 
to  tell  her  why  I wanted  to  do  so.  I told  her  that  I had  a 
fancy  for  ghosts  and  that  I thought  that  was  a good  place  to 
meet  them,  and  that  some  day  I thought  I would  write  a book 
and  I wanted  to  tell  how  I had  slept  in  Queen  Elizabeth’s  bed 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


133 


— calling  attention  to  the  fact,  of  course,  that  Queen  Eliza- 
beth had  died  some  3^ears  before  I did  so,  and  that  conse- 
quently there  would  be  no  possibility  of  any  rojml  scandal 
growing  out  of  my  publication. 

As  soon  as  I mentioned  that  I was  liable  to  publish  the 
incident  the  mother  seemed  alarmed  at  the  contemplation  of 
the  danger  she  had  escaped.  She  said:  “Why,  if  yqu  were 
to  print  that  you  had  slept  on  that  bed  it  would  be  as  much  as 
our  living  is  worth;  we  should  be  discharged  from  the  keeping 
of  the  castle.”  She  said,  however,  that  so  long  as  she  had 
promised  to  let  me  sleep  there,  if  I would  promise  never  to 
tell  anybody  of  it,  she  would  still  allow  me  to  do  so;  but  I told 
her  I would  not  give  a penny  to  sleep  on  it,  except  for  the 
privilege  of  writing  about  it;  and  she  would  not  let  me  stay 
there.  I suppose  that  if  she  had  known  that  I would  not 
write  anything  about  it  until  thirty-five  j^ears  after,  when  I 
would  be  a penitentiary  convict  in  America,  she  would  not 
have  urged  that  objection. 

One  day  I came  to  Banbury  Cross.  Where  the  cross  now 
stands  there  was,  when  Julius  Caesar  invaded  Britain,  a Druid 
altar;  their  religion,  as  their  name  signifies,  requiring  that 
they  should  worship  only  under  oak  trees.  Human  beings 
had  probably  been  offered  in  sacrifice  upon  that  altar.  When 
Christianity  was  introduced  into  Britain  and  they  quit  offer- 
ing human  sacrifices — on  stone  altars  and  on  so  small  a scale 
— they  destroyed  the  Druid  altar  and  put  a Christian  cross  in 
its  place.  Two  of  the.se  crosses  had  been  destroj'^ed  by  the 
tooth  of  time  and  the  cross  that  I saw  there  was  the  third 
one  that  had  stood  there.  It  was  apparently  not  more  than 
twenty-five  j’ears  old,  and  was  a beautiful  thing  in  white  mar- 
ble that  probably  cost  $5,000.  The  base  of  it  formed  a seat 
upon  which  I sat  and  ate  a noon  lunch.  As  I was  eating,  a 
man,  of  the  middle  class,  apparently,  came  along  by  me  and  I 
asked  him  to  give  me  a little  histor\"  of  the  cross.  He  said: 
“Oh,  I can’t  tell  you  anything  about  it.  Do  you  .see  that 
man  walking  across  the  square,  ^mnder?  If  there’s  anybody' 
here  that  can  tell  you  anything  about  it,  he  can.”  I looked 
in  the  direction  that  he  pointed,  and  saw  a man  whose  dress 


184 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


indicated  that  he  was  a clergyman  of  the  established  church. 
I walked  fast  enough  to  overtake  the  clergyman;  told  him 
that  I was  a traveler  and  that  I had  been  directed  to  him  as  a 
man  who  would  tell  me  the  story  of  the  Banbury  Cross.  He 
said:  “We  do  not  know  any  more  about  it  than  you  do.  We 

only  know  that  that  cross  is  the  place  where  an  old  woman 
got  on  a white  horse,  and  every  ten  years  there  is  an  old 
woman  who  goes  to  that  cross  and  gets  on  a white  horse,  and 
a company  of  young  men  and  young  women,  all  riding  white 
horses,  follow  her  over  the  town  distributing  Banbury  buns  to 
the  poor.  ’ ’ I have  always  regretted  that  I did  not  ask  that 
preacher  if  the  old  woman  had  “rings  on  her  fingers  and  bells 
on  her  toes,”  and  he  didn’t  say. 

One  of  my  earliest  recollections  of  my  life  is  see'ng  my 
father  cross  one  leg  over  the  other  and  putting  my  sister  Mary 
on  his  foot  and  hold  her  by  both  hands  while  he  rode  her  and 
said: 

“Ride  the  horse  to  Banbury  Cross, 

To  see  the  old  woman  get  upon  her  horse, 
tVith  rings  on  her  fingers  and  bells  on  her  toes. 

Making  sweet  music  wherever  she  goes.” 

I was  astonished,  in  several  instances,  to  find  that  intelli- 
gent English  people  regarded  some  of  their  legends  with  a 
kind  of  religious  reverence.  On  one  occasion,  at  one  of  my 
talks  to  the  people  at  the  inns,  of  which  I have  told  you,  I 
alluded  to  the  story  of  St.  George  and  the  Dragon,  just  as  we, 
in  America,  would  allude  to  St.  Patrick  and  the  snakes,  but  I 
saw,  immediately,  that  the  levity  with  which  I regarded  the 
story  was  not  responded  to  by  them. 

The  Avon  river  and  Stratford-on-Avon  were  places  that  I 
longed  to  see.  I am  bound  to  confess  that,  since  that  time, 
Ignatius  Donnelly  has,  in  my  judgment,  destroyed  some  of 
the  mystery  that  formerly  attached  to  the  name  of  Shake- 
speare, though  once,  when  I heard  Ingersoll  on  Shakespeare, 
I asked  him  if  he  felt  no  doubt  about  the  accuracy  of  Don- 
nelly’s Baconian  theory  of  Shakespeare,  and  he  laughed  and 
said  Donnelly  was  ridiculous.  If  the  commonly  accepted  his- 
tory of  Shake.speare  be  the  true  one,  he  and  Homer  have  come 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


135 


nearer  the  miraculous  in  writing  than  any  writers,  sacred  or 
profane,  known  to  me.  The  mere  mechanical  preservation  of 
Homer  is  more  marvelous  than  the  pyramids,  and  the  brain  of 
Shakespeare,  the  “coney  catcher,”  who  wrote  rh5^mes  with 
chalk  on  the  gate  of  “Lord  Lousy,”  is  that  to  which  genera- 
tions have  gone,  a.s  to  the  Coliseum  and  Cheops,  to  get  ready- 
cut  stones  from  which,  like  Sir  Christopher  Wren  and  Michael 
Angelo,  they  have  built  what  has  made  them  famous. 

I came  to  the  Avon  near  Windsor  Castle,  and  followed 
down  the  banks  of  the  stream  to  Stratford.  So  many  people 
have  described  the  home  of  Shakespeare  that  I found  nothing 
new  to  say  about  it.  I spent  most  of  my  time  there  on  the 
Avon  river.  There  is  much  about  the  Avon  that  is  calculated 
to  develop  such  a genius  as  Burns,  but,  as  was  said  of  Wash- 
ington, it  is  true  of  Shakespeare  that  “no  age  can  claim,  no 
country  can  appropriate  him,”  and  while  the  Avon  is  an 
idyl;  the  dream  of  a lotus  eater,  in  its  beauty,  there  is  nothing 
about  it  at  all  adequate  to  account  for  the  impressions  that 
were  on  the  mind  of  its  famous  bard.  The  stream,  at  Strat- 
ford, is  not  more  than  sevent}’  feet  wide,  but  is  very  deep  and 
not  rapid.  Its  banks  are  almost  level  down  to  the  water  and 
beautiful  grass  grows  right  to  the  water’s  edge.  I am  fond  of 
rowing;  claim  to  be  an  expert  as  an  oarsman,  and  the  most 
beautiful  light  row  boats  that  I have  ever  seen  were  at  Strat- 
ford. I hired  one  of  these  pretty  enough  for  a mermaid 
queen  to  ride  in,  and  rowed,  sometimes  rapidly  and  sometimes 
leisurely,  under  the  trees  that  hung  over  and  so  beautifully 
shaded  the  water.  I had  gotten  a package  of  cakes  and  was 
eating  .some  of  them.  Beautiful  droves  of  swans  followed 
me,  and  when  I stopped  would  reach  over  into  my  boat,  evi- 
dently wanting  some  of  my  cakes.  They  seemed  to  be  a 
kind  of  pirates  who,  from  long  experience  with  visitors  there, 
had  learned,  like  human  beggars,  that  they  could  extort  this 
kind  of  a tariff  from  those  who  came  to  ride  upon  their  fairy- 
like stream,  and  I divided  liberally  with  them.  Sometimes  I 
would  run  into  so  large  quantities  of  water  lilies  as  to  stop 
my  boat. 

I awoke  one  beautiful  morning  realizing  that  that  day  I 


136 


BEHIND  THE  BAES;  31408. 


was  to  see  London.  In  walking  to  London  the  houses 
get  so  gradually  thicker  and  merge  from  elegant  country  resi- 
dences into  a city,  that  I could  not  tell  within  twenty  miles  of 
where  the  city  began.  As  I think  I have  intimated  to  you — 
I send  my  manuscript  [home  every  day  or  two,  and  cannot 
always  recollect  what  I have  written — it  was  during  that  walk 
into  London  that  something  made  a singularly  vivid  impres- 
sion on  my  mind  that  I did  not  at  the  time  appreciate,  and  to 
this  day  I am  liable  to  dream  any  night  that  I am  in  the 
suburbs  of  London  and  cannot  find  my  way  into  the  city, 
though  I walked  many  hours  and  manj^  miles  in  trying  to  do 
so.  The  British  Museum  and  the  Temple,  Buckingham  Pal- 
ace, Trafalgar  Square,  the  tunnel  under  the  Thames,  the 
House  of  Parliament,  Westminster  Abbey,  the  Strand,  the 
London  Bridge,  the  Black  Friars  and  the  eternally  ebbing  and 
flowing  sea  of  human  beings  in  this,  the  largest  city  in 
the  world,  have  been  seen,  or  read  about,  by  so  many  people, 
that  I only  care  to  give  my  own  experiences,  and  I will  just 
give  them  as  they  come  to  ni}^  memory. 

The  first  place  I saw  in  London  that  I had  ever  heard  of 
was  Day  & Martin’s  shoe  blacking  manufactory.  It  is  men- 
tioned in  one  of  Saxe’s  poems.  Blacking  was  being  handled 
in  great  hogsheads  that  would  hold  a thousand  pounds  each, 
and  it  looked  as  if  enough  was  made  there  to  supply  the 
world;  but  when  you  get  fully  into  London  it  would  seem  im- 
possible that  any  one  establishment  could  supply  that  city 
with  shoe  blacking.  It  is  practically  impo.ssible  for  any  de- 
cently dres.sed  man  to  walk  the  streets  of  London  who.se  shoes 
are  not  polished  to  perfection.  You  ma}"  have  thought  that 
your  shoes  were  well  blacked,  but  if  .something  has  injured 
the  polish  on  one  of  them  a boy  runs  with  his  blacking  outfit 
to  the  first  place  that  you  can  stop,  kneels  on  the  pavement  be- 
fore you  and  with  his  bru.sh  points  to  j^our  shoes  as  you  go  by. 
If  you  do  not  notice  him,  he  runs  to  another  place  ahead  of 
you  and  again  kneels  and  waits  for  you.  If  you  never  notice 
him  he  finall}"  quits  to  have  another  boy  take  up  the  same 
thing  where  he  left  off.  If  you  have  any  distance  to  walk 
you  will  soon  get  tired  of  seeing  this,  or  of  being  seen  thus 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


137 


besieged  and  of  being  suspected  of  being  moneyless  or  stingj', 
and  you  will  let  the  bo}’  black  }"Our  shoes;  and,  after  one  or 
tn-o  experiences,  3'ou  will  learn  to  stop  when  the  first  boy 
kneels  before  j'ou. 

The  next  place  I saw  that  I had  heard  of  was  Bow  street 
church,  within  the  sound  of  which  a man  has  to  be  born  in 
order  to  be  a Cocknej',  the  man  who  says  “’am  and  heggs,” 
and  singularly  puts  his  h’s  where  they  ought  not  to  be  and 
fails  to  put  them  where  they  ought  to  be — who  says  to  that 
relic  of  the  Greek  aspirate,  “Get  hout  of  my  ’ouse,  you  ’orrid 
creature,  and  go  to  Hamerica,  where  thc3"  love  >"ou  so.’’ 

Speaking  of  churches  reminds  me  that  I had  forgotten  to 
tell  \'ou  of  an  incident  in  theolog}’  at  Oxford.  One  of  the 
men  who  had  replied  to  Colenso’s  book  against  the  Pente- 
teuch,  was  connected  with  the  Universitj^  at  Oxford,  and  was 
to  preach  there  one  Sundaj^  when  I was  there.  I forget  his 
name,  but  his  reputation  was  that  of  one  of  the  most  learned 
of  English  theologians.  I congratulated  m5"self  that  I would 
have  a chance  to  hear  him  preach  if  I could  get  a seat  in 
what  I supposed  would  be  the  crowded  large  church  in  which 
he  would  preach.  I went  to  the  place  where  he  was  to  preach, 
found  it  a ver>^  costh'  but  small  room,  and  with  about  half  as 
many  people  in  it  as  I had  had  at  Wednesda}"  night  pra3^er 
meetings  at  Versailles.  The  famous  theologian  finally  ap- 
peared and  conducted  the  regulation  service  and  preached  a 
sermon.  The  language  was,  of  course,  well  chosen,  but  the 
sermon  was  no  more  interesting  than  the  average  elder’s 
pra3'er  meeting  talk  in  the  churches  in  Kentuck3’,  and  if  the 
people  were  listening,  at  all,  it  was  from  a sense  of  dut3’ 
rather  than  from  actual  intere.st  in  what  he  was  sa3'ing.  If  I 
had  preached  such  a .sermon  I would  have  regarded  it  as  a 
failure,  even  for  me.  He  was  a 3'oung  and  bo3dsh-looking 
fellow.  When  the  sermon  was  over  I went  to  see  the  janitor 
and  told  him  I wanted  to  see  the  clergy-man,  and  was  told  that 
I could  see  him  b3’  waiting  at  the  door  until  he  came  out  of 
the  ve.str3'  room.  When  he  came  out  I told  him  that  I had 
been  a preacher  and  was  then  an  infidel  and  that  I wanted 
to  talk  with  him  about  the  Bible.  He  was  \-er3-  affable,  gave 


138 


BEHIND  THE  BARS : 31498. 


me  the  number  of  his  room  and  directions  how  to  get  there, 
and  asked  me  to  meet  him  that  night  at  12  o'clock;  that,  in 
some  way,  seemed  a more  natural  hour  for  an  engagement 
there  than  it  would  do  here.  At  the  appointed  minute  I was 
on  hand,  and  he  was  about  one  minute  late.  He  lived  in  al- 
most palacial  style,  and  told  me  that  the  suite  of  rooms  into 
which  he  received  me  were  those  that  had  been  occupied  by 
Wesley  and  Whitfield  when  they  were  students. 

He  drew  up  a handsome  table  and  set  on  it  a nice  lunch 
and  wine,  and  putting  two  chairs  to  the  table  asked  me  to 
take  one.  I declined  with  thanks,  telling  him  that  I had  had 
my  supper.  While  he  was  eating  we  had  a desultory  conver- 
sation in  which  he  did  not  seem  extraordinary.  When  he  had 
finished  his  repast  he  signified  his  readiness  to  discuss  the 
special  matter  that  I had  made  the  engagement  for,  and  I se- 
lected what  I regarded  as  some  of  the  strongest  arguments 
against  the  Bible,  and  presented  them  with  all  the  force  that  I 
could.  He  heard  me  patiently,  and,  when  I was  through, 
added  one  or  two  points  to  my  side  of  the  argument  that  were 
new  to  me,  and  then  proceeded  to  answer  them  all.  In  doing 
.so  he  frequently  read  from  several  large  books,  on  which  he 
showed  me  his  name  as  author  of  them.  In  all  the  experience 
I have  ever  had  that  was  the  only  man  who  has  ever  come 
near  to  converting  me  to  Christianity  again.  I have  never 
been  able  to  recall  the  arguments  that  he  made,  and  now  think 
he  was  a very  learned  man  and  an  ingenious  logician,  and  that 
some  of  his  arguments  were  mi.sleading,  and  that  things  that 
he  gave  me  as  facts  could  not  be  sustained;  but  he  so  defeated 
me  in  the  discussion  that  it  made  me  waver  the  only  time  I 
have  ever  done  so  in  my  infidel  views.  I have  never  since 
then  found  anj^  man,  or  any  book,  that  seemed  to  me  so 
strong  a defense  of  the  Christian  religion  as  that  man  was; 
but  I was  then  merely  a beginner  in  the  study  of  the  infidel 
side  of  the  argument,  and  suppose  now  that  I could  show  the 
fallacy  of  his  replies  to  my  objections  to  the  Bible. 

St.  Paul’s,  in  Hondon,  is  simply  a great  gallery  of  fine 
arts  and  architecture,  the  part  devoted  to  preaching  being 
quite  inconsiderable.  I noticed  that  everybody  in  it  went 


BEHIND  THE  BAES ; 31498. 


139 


with  their  hats  oif,  when  I could  see  no  reason  why  they 
should  do  so  any  more  than  in  any  other  art  gallery.  I con- 
cluded that  I would  put  my  hat  on,  and  when  some  guard 
came  to  me  about  it  pretend  that  I did  not  understand  and  ask 
him  wh}'^  I had  to  keep  my  hat  off.  I had  not  had  my  hat  on 
more  than  a minute  or  two  before  a fellow^  came  to  me  and 
asked  me  to  take  it  off,  and  w’hen  1 turned  to  him  for  the  pur- 
pose of  asking  him  about  it,  I saw  that  he  was  such  a blank 
and  unappreciative  perfunctory  that  I thought  I could  get 
no  information  out  of  him,  and  I bared  my  head  in  regular 
idolators  reverence  of  the  canvas  and  marble  misconceptions 
of  their  famous  authors. 

In  the  “whispering  galler}’”  in  the  dome  of  St.  Pauls’,  I 
essayed  to  get  a little  more  information  out  of  that  marvel  in 
accoustics  than  I had  paid  the  guide  for,  who  stations  you  at 
one  point  while  he  goes  off  quite  a distance  and  in  ordinary 
voice  gives  his  professional  outline  of  the  history  of  St. 
Paul’s  and  of  the  phenomenon  w’hich  w'e  are  at  the  time  ex- 
periencing. I saw  a young  fellow  and  his  summer  girl  that 
seemed  to  be  having  one  of  those  talks  where  a third  party  is 
too  many.  While  m}^  experience  had  just  taught  me  that  I 
could  heal  the  professional  exhibitor,  as  I did,  it  was  hard  for 
me  to  realize  that  I could  hear,  at  that  distance,  anybody  else 
in  the  same  wa}".  So  under  the  pretense  of  accidental!}-  saun- 
tering there,  I walked  toward  the  focus  w-here  the  voices  of 
the  two  young  people  would  concentrate.  I didn’t  hear  them 
say  a word,  but  whether  I had  miscalculated  the  place,  or 
whether  they  were  watching  what  I was  doing  and  w-anted  to 
rebuke  me,  I never  knew,  but  I walked  on  feeling  like  I had 
been  caught  eavesdropping,  at  long  range,  and  it  w'as  hard  for 
me  to  persuade  m}'self  that  it  w-as  solely  in  the  interest  of 
science. 

In  “Poet’s  Corner,’’  in  Westminster  Abbey  I thought  of 
Bryon’s  having  been  denied  sepulture  there,  because  he  was 
a heretic,  and  near  by  saw  a tablet  to  Major  Andre.  It  de- 
pends upon  who  are  judge  and  jury  as  to  w-hether  a man  goes 
to  the  Pantheon  or  the  penitentiary.  A man  w^ho  greatly  ad- 
mired two  distinguished  men  longed  to  see  how  they  looked  in 


140 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


the  privacy  of  their  studies,  He  went  in  upon  them  unexpect- 
edly and  found  them  balancing  peacock  feathers  on  their 
noses.  I ha'd  supposed  the  wigs  and  gowns  in  the  House  of 
Parliament  would  be  imposing.  The  first  members  I saw 
were  eating  cherries  and  spitting  the  seeds  out  so  like  ordinary 
men,  that  they,  in  their  wigs  and  gowns,  reminded  me  of 
Esop’s  ass  that  masqueraded  as  a lion.  If  I were  asked  to 
say  what  was  the  most  wonderful  thing  I saw  in  London  it 
would  be  hard  for  me  to  decide  between  the  British  Museum 
and  the  miles  and  miles  of  silk  ‘ ‘stove-pipe’  ’ hats  that  I saw 
on  the  heads  of  many  men  riding  on  the  tops  of  omnibu.ses. 

If  a man  who  wanted  a “lodge  in  some  vast  wilderness’’ 
was  reallj^  sighing  to  experience  the  feeling  of  desolation  he 
would  have  to  go  alone  to  London.  Robinson  Crusoe,  even 
before  the  advent  of  his  man  Friday,  was  “lord  of  all  he  sur- 
veyed,’’ and  felt  his  individuality,  but  a stranger  alone  in  the 
throngs  of  London  feels  like  we  might  imagine  a single  teat 
dropped  in  mid-ocean  might  feel  if  endowed  with  reason. 
There  was  to  me  a feeling  of  littleness  as  I floated,  a drop  in 
that  great  human  tide,  that  was  akin  to  that  we  feel  when, 
vvith  some  knowledge  of  astronomy,  we  gaze  into  the  depths 
of  the  star-lit  skies. 

When  the  day  came  upon  which  I began  my  march  to- 
ward the  Channel  and  France,  I stopped  on  London  bridge 
and  going  out  into  one  of  the  beautiful  .seated  balconies  that 
jut  out  over  the  water  like  opera  boxes — by  the  way,  I forgot 
to  tell  you  about  .seeing  the  Prince  of  Wales  and  Gladstone  at 
Convent  Garden  Theater — stood  there  and  was  looking  down 
at  the  water,  and  wondering  if  I would  ever  see  that  bridge 
again,  and  if  I would  not  die  alone  somewhere,  and  nobody 
know  what  ever  become  of  me,  and  my  poor  mother  and  sis- 
ters at  home  wonder  all  their  lives  what  ever  became  of  me. 
A nice  looking,  ueatl}^  dressed  man  came  up  by  me  and  looked 
over  the  balcony  as  I was  doing.  I asked  him  something 
about  a peculiar  boat  that  we  saw,  and  he  said  he  did  not 
know  about  it;  that  though  he  was  born  in  London  he  had 
lived  for  years  in  Australia,  and  was  just  in  London  then  on 
a visit.  We  soon  got  to  talking  and  he  showed  great  interest 


141 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 

in  me.  I had  thought  that  among  all  the  men  who  showed 
such  interest  in  me  I would  probably  come  across  one  some- 
time who  was  an  impostor,  and  I determined  just  for  m3’  own 
information  that  I would  study  this  man  even  if  I had  to  in- 
cur some  risk  in  doing  so.  He  asked  me  where  I was  going, 
and  I told  him  that  I was  walking  to  Palestine,  and  that  1113’ 
next  stop  would  be  in  Paris,  France.  He  asked  me  where  I 
was  going  to  stop  there,  and  I told  him  that  I did  not  know. 
He  said  he  was  going  to  Paris  before  a great  while  and  that 
he  would  like  to  meet  me  there.  He  asked  me  how  I man- 
aged my  money  matters,  and  I told  him  that  I had  gold 
buckled  around  me  in  a belt  under  my  outer  clothes.  He 
seemed  to  think  me  a remarkable  character,  and  when  I finally 
said  I must  bid  him  good-bye  and  march  on,  he  said  he  was 
just  walking  at  leisure,  and  asked  me  if  he  might  not  walk 
some  distance  with  me  through  the  cit3^  I said  3^es,  and  he 
walked  along  with  me.  In  about  a half  mile  from  the  end  of 
the  bridge  we  came  to  a ver3’  elegant  building  up  into  which 
there  was  a flight  of  ten  or  twelve  long  and  handsome  steps,  a 
beautiful  open  door  being  at  their  top. 

The  man  said  to  me,  “Let’s  go  up  here  and  see  what  is 
in  here.’’  I went  up  with  him  and  we  went  through  the 
door  into  a very  large  and  very  handsome  room  in  w’hich 
there  was  nobody.  He  threw  himself  into  a large  and  luxu- 
rious cushioned  arm  chair,  and  I stretched  myself  full  length 
on  an  elegant  divan.  We  talked  for  a quarter  of  an  hour, 
nobody  else  appearing.  He  then  pointed  toward  the  w'all  and 
said,  “Pull  that  thing.’’  There  w’as  a broad,  heavy  silk  band 
with  a beautiful  large  ring  in  the  end  of  it,  that  I could  see, 
from  the  fixtures  up  near  the  ceiling,  was  a bell-cord.  I put 
my  hand  in  the  ring  and  pulled  it,  without  getting  up.  A 
man  came  in  who  was  dressed  as  elegantl3’,  in  full  dress  suit, 
as  clothes  could  make  him,  but  a napkin  on  his  left  arm  sig- 
nified that  he  was  a waiter.  M3^  companion  told  him  to  bring 
in  a couple  of  bottles  of  champagne.  I said  to  him  imme- 
diately, that  if  he  was  ordering  wine  for  me  I would  decline 
it,  and  that  I never  drank  it.  My  companion,  whom,  for 
convenience,  I will  call  Gray,  becau.se  he  was  dressed  in  a 


142 


BEHIND  THE  BANS;  31498. 


gray  suit,  seemed  quite  disappointed,  and  urged  me  to  drink 
wine  with  him  with  an  earnestness  that  seemed  to  me  was 
perhaps  a little  greater  than  of  any  ordinary  interest.  When 
he  found  that  I would  not  drink  with  him,  he  countermanded 
the  order,  saying  he  was  glad  I would  not,  becau.se  his  phy- 
.sician  had  ordered  him  to  quit  wine.  He  then  asked  me  if  I 
would  not  smoke,  and  when  I said  that  I would  he  ordered 
pipes  and  tobacco — I saw  nobody  smoking  cigars — and  the 
waiter  brought  in  a beautiful  casket  of  tobacco  and  an  orna- 
mental rack  containing  probably  as  many  as  two  dozen  pipes, 
all  as  white  as  snow.  Each  of  us  filled  one  and  resumed  our 
positions  and  were  smoking  and  talking  when  a short  fat  man, 
very  elegantly  dressed,  came  up  the  steps  into  the  room  and, 
bowing  to  both  of  us,  as  to  strangers,  began  to  tell  us  in  an 
excited  manner  a bit  of  his  very  I'ecent  experience  which  in 
substance  w'as  as  follows:  He  had  recently  had  a rich  uncle 

to  die  and  leave  him  a large  fortune  in  the  country,  and  he 
had  come  “to  town,’’  as  they  call  London,  to  see  .something  of 
the  world.  Only  an  hour  or  .so  before  that  li,e  had  given  an 
order  to  a cab  driver  to  wait  for  him  at  a certain  place,  telling 
him  he  would  be  back  there  in  fifteen  minutes.  The  driver 
had  asked  him  to  give  him  some  assurance  that  he  would 
come  back,  and  he  had  handed  the  driver  his  watch,  and  when 
he  came  back  the  damned  rascal  was  gone  with  his  watch.  I 
noticed  that  the  man  had  a fine  watch  chain  that  went  into 
his  pocket  with  the  appearance  of  having  a watch  on  the  end 
of  it.  I thought  of  suggesting  that  it  had  not  taken  him 
long  to  buy  another  one,  and  that  a little  episode  like  that  was 
nothing  for  a man  of  means  to  be  worrying  himself  about; 
but  I was  afraid  it  might  arouse  in  him  a suspicion  that  I did 
not  believe  his  story,  and  thus  defeat  my  desire  to  see  if  he 
was  playing  a game  in  which  Gray  was  his  partner  and  the 
near  a thousand  dollars  in  gold  belted  aroiind  my  waist  was 
the  stake. 

Gray  joined  with  me  in  rigging  the  little  fat  man  for  his 
verdancy  and  consequent  discomfiture.  When  we  had  finally 
gotten  him  pacified  and  had  prevailed  on  him  to  have  a seat, 
he  asked  me  to  pull  that  bell-cord,  just  as  Gray  had  asked  me 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


148 


to  do,  and  on  the  appearance  of  the  same  waiter  ordered 
champagne  for  three.  I declined,  as  I had  done  before,  and 
the  little  fat  man  was  disappointed,  and  Gray  explained  to 
him  that  neither  of  us  drank.  The  fat  man  took  a pipe  with 
us  and  began  to  tell  that  there  was  going  to  be  a fine  target 
practice  that  da}^  of  Her  Majesty’s  soldiers,  down  at  Syden- 
ham, and  that  he  could  beat  anybody  shooting  that  would  be 
there,  and  he  made  some  marvelous  statements  about  his 
marksmanship  which  I told  him  I did  not  believe.  He  said 
he  would  bet  me  he  could  do  it,  and  that  if  I would  bet  him 
he  would  call  a carriage  and  pay  all  expenses  for  all  of  us, 
there  and  back.  I told  him  that  I did  not  bet  and  that  I had 
been  to  Sydenham  to  see  the  crystal  palace  there,  and  did  not 
care  to  go  again.  He  said  he  did  not  want  to  bet  money,  but 
just  a basket  of  champagne  or  a box  of  kid  gloves  or  any 
nominal  thing,  and  that  having  doubted  his  statement  I was 
under  an  obligation  to  him,  as  a gentleman,  to  give  him  an 
opportunity  to  prove  what  he  said, 

I finally  agreed  that  I would  go  with  him  to  a place  in 
the  city,  of  which  he  said  he  knew,  where  he  could  do  rifle 
shooting.  He  went  out  and  soon  had  a fine  carriage  at  the 
door,  and  all  three  of  us  got  in.  I had  a revolver  in  my  right 
hip  pocket,  and  I took  the  seat  on  the  right  hand  side  of  the 
carriage,  behind,  so  that  I could  easily  get  my  hand  on  m>^ 
pistol.  We  drove  for  miles  through  the  city,  until  we  began 
to  get  in  a part  of  it  where  the  streets  were  narrow  and  the 
houses  of  the  poorest  class  I had  seen  in  London.  We  finally 
stopped  before  a small  house  of  not  prepossessing  appearance, 
and  we  all  got  out  and  went  in.  We  were  met  in  the  first 
room  by  an  old  man  who  a.sked  us  to  have  seats,  and  when 
we  were  seated  the  little  fat  man  ordered  drinks,  pipes,  and 
tobacco,  just  as  he  had  done  for  all  three  of  us  at  the  elegant 
establishment  we  had  left.  I declined  all  drinks,  but  took  a 
pipe,  carefully  watching  the  flavor  of  the  tobacco  to  detect 
any  possible  foreign  drug  that  might  be  in  it.  When  we 
were  through  smoking  we  all  walked  through  a back  door 
into  a long  skittle  alley  that  was  in  the  rear  of  the  hou.se. 
The  old  man,  in  answer  to  questions  from  the  little  fat  man. 


144 


BEHIND  THE  BARS,  31498. 


said  lie  had  once  had  a shooting  gallery  there  but  he  had 
changed  it  into  a skittle  alley. 

The  little  fat  man  .seemed  nonplu.sed.  He  picked  up  a 
large  arbor  vitae  liall  and  said  he  would  bet  that  he  could  hold 
it  at  arm’s  length  longer  than  any  of  us,  Nobodj'  propo.sed 
to  bet  him.  Tie  held  the  ball  out  and  Gray  pulled  out  his 
watch  and  timed  him,  calling  the  .seconds  when  the  little  fat 
man  dropped  it  on  the  sawdust.  The  fat  man  then  went  with 
the  old  man  out  into  the  back  yard,  and  while  Gray  and  I 
were  talking  in  the  .skittle  alle}^  I picked  up  the  ball  that  the 
fat  man  had  dropped  and  held  it  out  at  arm’s  length  as  long 
as  I could,  and  then  dropped  it  on  the  sawdust.  When  Gray 
.saw  what  I was  going  to  do  he  took  out  his  watch  and  timed 
me.  When  the  fat  man  came  in  again  Gray  said  to  him,  ‘T 
will  bet  you  that  there  is  a man  here  that  can  hold  that  ball 
out  longer  than  you  can.”  The  fat  man  said,  ‘T  will  take  the 
bet.”  Gray  then  said,  ‘T  timed  you  and  my  friend  here,  and 
my  friend  has  already  held  it  out  longer  than  you  did.” 

The  fat  man  said  it  was  not  right  to  do  it  in  his  absence, 
but  that  we  were  all  gentlemen  together  and  that  he  would  be 
as  good  as  his  word,  and  would  pay  his  bets.  He  ran  his 
hand  down  in  his  pants  pocket  and  pulled  out  a handful  of 
gold  and  silver  coin  and  slapped  it  down  on  a bench  before 
Gray  and  a similar  handful  on  the  part  of  the  same  bench 
that  was  near  me.  I suppose  there  was  an  amount  equal  to  a 
hundred  dollars  in  American  money  in  each  pile.  Gray  hesi- 
tated to  take  his  pile  and  watched  me  to  see  if  I would  take 
mine.  I moved  away  from  the  pile  that  had  been  put  down 
for  me,  .said  that  I had  not  made  any  bet  and  did  not  claim  it, 
and  talking  carelessly  as  if  I suspected  nothing,  I sauntered, 
by  degrees,  toward  the  door  at  which  we  had  come  in,  and 
turning  to  the  two  men  said,  ‘‘Good-bye,  gentlemen,”  opened 
the  door  prettj^  quickly,  went  out  through  the  front  room,  and 
swung  on  my  knapsack  that  lay  on  a table  in  that  room,  and 
was  soon  in  the  street  making  my  way,  as  best  I could  guess, 
toward  London  bridge  again,  that  I noticed  we  had  crossed  in 
the  carriage.  I never  saw  or  heard  anything  more  of  the 
men.  Of  course  I do  not  know,  but  I suspected  almost  from 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


145 


the  first  minute  that  I saw  Gray  that  it  was  a plan  to  rob  me, 
and  in  order  to  see  how  they  would  manage  it,  I went  just  as 
far  as  I thought  I could  go  with  safet3^  I think  they  were 
pals  and  that  their  plan  was  to  get  me  under  the  influence  of 
liquor  and  rob  me,  but  I dont  know. 

Much  of  the  country  from  London  to  New  Haven  on  the 
Channel  is  nothing  but  solid  chalk,  with  barely  enough  soil 
on  top  for  the  heather  to  grow  in.  It  was  of  great  geological 
interest  to  me. 

The  first  thing  I saw  when  I landed  in  France  that  inter- 
ested me,  after  having  noticed  that  even  the  horses  under- 
stood French,  was  a parrot.  I walked  up  to  him  with  some 
possible  misgivings  that  I wms  not  approaching  him  in  his 
own  language,  and  remarked  with  the  proper  rising  inflection, 
“Polly,  want  a cracker?”  but  he  seemed  to  regard  me  as  some- 
thing outre.  I ventilated  some  of  my  French,  much  after  the 
style  prescribed  in  “Ollendorf’s  Method,”  and  asked  a man 
standing  by  what  that  parrot  could  sa}^  He  said  the  parrot 
could  say  “J’ai  besoin  de  pomme  de  terre” — not  the  exact 
equivalent  of  our  American  “Polly’s”  selection  from  the 
menu,  but  still,  like  a parrot,  wanting'something  to  eat.  I 
tried  to  get  him  to  say  it  for  me,  but  he  seemed  to  detest  the 
foreigner  in  my  accent  and  was  stolidlj^  reticent. 

The  most  striking  contrast  between  the  appearance  of 
the  country  in  England  and  in  France  is  that  while  the  first 
is  all  enclosed  with  walls,  hedges  and  ditches,  there  are  none 
of  these  in  France,  and  all  along  my  road  toward  Paris  there 
was  one  unbroken  expanse  of  beautiful  country  with  nothing 
that  I could  see  to  indicate  the  boundaries  between  estates — 
no  enclosures  of  any  kind,  and  all  the  stock  kept  by  shep- 
herds and  herdsmen.  My  marching  through  a strange  coun- 
try, accoutered  as  I was,  had  been  a day  dream  of  my  bo>’- 
hood  and  I suppo.se  of  thousands  of  other  boys,  and  as  I 
walked  then  a large  part  of  my  journey  along  the  banks  of 
the  Seine,  it  still  seemed  like  a dream  to  me.  While  in  this 
there  was  some  pleasant  food  for  thought,  and  though,  now 
that  it  is  all  over  and  incorporated  into  my  past  life,  I am  glad 
' it  all  happened  just  as  it  did,  I can  now  remember  that  I 
realized  then,  for  the  first  time,  the  meaning  of  the  words 


146 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


'“’Mid  pleasures  and  palaces  though  we  may  roam, 

Be  it  ever  so  humble  there’s  no  place  like  home.” 

And  I realized  all  that  is  meant  by  the  Horatiau  saying, 
“Coelum,  non  animum  mutant  qui  trans  mare  currunt.” 

So  different  are  the  conditions  of  our  lives  that  it  is  hard 
for  one  properly  to  advise  another,  but  if  any  man  has  a 
home,  as  a general  thing  it  is  a good  place  to  live.  Rouen 
was  the  first  place  on  my  route  that  I can  now  recall  as  having 
been  of  great  interest  to  me.  Of  course  one  of  the  great  at- 
tractions there  is  the  cathedral,  elaborately  carved  in  alabaster 
from  bottom  to  top,  many  of  the  representations  being  very 
grotesque.  Among  .some  of  the  first  that  attracted  my  atten- 
tion was  the  story  of  St.  Dunstan,  the  patron  saint  of  all  the 
black.smiths,  and  the  Devil,  the  patron  saint  of  pretty  much 
everybody  else.  St.  Dunstan  had  the  Devil  b}^  the  nose  with 
his  red-hot  blacksmith  tongues — a kind  of  “fighting  the  Devil 
with  fire” — and  the  contortions  and  gymnastics  that  the  Devil 
was  going  through  did  not  seem  to  me  well  calculated  to  in- 
spire the  feeling  of  solemnity  in  church  going  people.  Such 
conceptions  as  that  in  old  statuar}'  and  paintings  of  religious 
things  are  not  unusual  in  Europe,  and  whether  they  are  the 
serious  conceptions  of  their  authors  or  little  underhanded 
jokes  on  religion,  I could  never  determine. 

Inside  of  the  cathedral  one  of  the  curiosities  is  an  im- 
mense wax  candle  some  hundreds  of  years  old  that  is  decked 
with  jewels  and  only  lighted  on  some  rare  occasions,  and  cost- 
ing a nice  fortune.  This  in  connection  with  the  St.  Dunstan 
sculpture  naturally  sugge.sted  that  line  from  Saxe,  Hood,  or 
somebody, 

“Making  light  of  cereous  things  ' 

Is  truly  a wicked  profession'” 

There  in  the  floor  was  the  place  where  the  heart  of  Rich- 
ard Coeur  de  Dion  was  buried,  and  high  up  in  the  groined 
ceiling  was  a rope  on  which  were  strung  a collection  of  red 
hats  of  defunct  cardinals,  a conception  scarcely  less  grotesque 
than  that  of  St.  Dunstan.  When  I was  tired  of  wondering 
and  wandering  around  in  the  cathedral  I started  out  in  search 


BErilND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


147 


of  new  adventures  and  soon  found  quite  an  interesting  one. 
I was  going  along  a narrow  .street  in  which  there  was  not 
very  much  travel,  and  that  was  principally  of  persons  on  foot. 
The  carriage  way  of  the  street  was  .so  smooth  and  nice  and 
the  pavements  were  so  narrow  that  fully  half  of  the  people, 
including  myself,  were  walking  in  the  middle  of  the  street.  I 
saw  coming  and  meeting  me,  though  they  were  on  the  foot 
pavement,  a pretty  girl,  apparently  about  [8  years  old,  with 
an  elderl}^  gentleman  who  proved  to  be  her  father.  I saw  the 
girl  step  off  the  pavement,  on  which  she  left  her  father  stand- 
ing, and  start  toward  me  as  if  .she  were  coming  to  meet  me, 
and  .she  spoke  to  me  in  French,  of  course,  telling  me  that  she 
and  her  father  were  on  their  way  to  the  cathedral,  and  that 
they  were  strangers  there,  and  she  asked  me  to  direct  her  how 
to  get  there.  This  much  I gathered,  with  .some  difficulty, 
was  the  trend  of  what  she  was  saying. 

My  resources  for  making  other  people  understand  in 
French  were  even  more  limited  than  those  I had  for  under- 
standing them;  but  allured  by  the  idea  of  a perfectly  legitimate 
detention  of  that  girl  until  I could  get  a good  look  at  her 
pretty  face,  I launched  out  into  a ventilation  of  my  French 
that  really  was  intended  to  be  a more  elaborate  answer  to  her 
question  than  the  circumstances  actually  demanded.  I was 
soon  in  a lab5^rinth  of  lingual  intricacies  thqt  would  have  em- 
barras.sed  Perseus  that  time  he  went  to  assist  Andromeda.  If 
the  girl  had  laughed  at  me  it  would  have  relieved  me  some, 
but  “the.se  things  to  hear  did  Desdemona  seriously  incline,” 
and  she  listened  with  the  politeness  for  which  the  French  are 
famous.  When  through  a long  struggle  I had  done  my  best 
to  make  myself  understood  and  had  finally  come  to  a period, 
she  turned  toward  her  father  and,  in  beautiful  English,  told 
him  what  she  had  understood,  and  guessed,  that  I said. 

Smarting  under  a feeling  of  mingled  indignation  and  dis- 
gu.st  that  I had  conspired  with  her  to  make  a fool  of  myself, 
I said  to  her,  “If  you  had  spoken  to  me  in  that  kind  of  lan- 
guage I would  have  told  you  long  ago,”  and  I marched  off 
like  one  who  felt  that  he  had  been  injured.  I went  down  to 
the  monument  erected  to  Joan  of  Arc,  on  the  .spot  where  the 


148 


BEHIND  THE  BABS,  31498. 


English  burnt’’her  at  the  stake.  I didn’t  feel  inclined  to  take 
my  hat  off  in  >St.  Paul’s,  where  the  regulation  demanded  that  I 
should  do  so,  but  at  the  foot  of  the  monument  to  Joan  of 
Arc,  where  everybody  else  was  passing,  just  as  they  would  by 
the  monument  of  John  C.  Breckinridge,  on  Cheapside,  in- 
Eexington,  I took  off  my  hat  in  reverence.  I stood  there  a 
long  time  and  tried  to  realize  what  had  once  occurred  there, 
but  is  seemed  like  a dream.  Even  assuming  the  story  of 
Calvary  to  be  all  true,  there  it  was  a man  who  suffered;  here 
it  was  a woman.  England  to-day,  like  “Miss  Flora  McFlim- 
sey,”  is 

“proud  of  her  pride. 

And  proud  of  a thousand  things  beside,” 

But  it  seems  to  me  that  the  story  of  Joan  of  Arc  .should  for- 
ever be  a thorn  in  the  flesh  of  Britain. 

My  walk  toward  Paris  was  right  up  the  banks  of  the 
Seine.  I had  long  had  an  idea  that  I could  walk  a hundred 
miles  in  a day  of  twenty-four  hours,  and  intended  some  day 
to  try  it.  One  morning  at  9:30  o’clock  I started  out  from 
Pont  de  I’arch.  which  was  seventy-five  miles  from  Paris. 
When  I had  been  walking  an  hour  I pulled  out  my  watch  and 
noticing  a kilometer  post  saw  that  I was  making  fine  speed. 
I felt  very  fresh  and  strong,  the  road  was  almost  perfect,  giv- 
ing me  the  choice  of  walking  on  the  hard  and  smooth  mac- 
adam or  on  the  beautiful  grass  plot  that  was  trimmed  and 
kept  in  perfect  order  all  the  way;  the  temperature  was 
just  right  and  there  was  a slight  breeze  at  my  back.  It  was 
only  seventy-five  miles  to  Paris,  but  so  sure  was  I that  I could 
walk  a hundred  miles  that  day  that  I intended  to  walk  right 
on  through  Paris  until  I had  completed  my  hundred  miles.  I 
increased  my  speed  almost  to  a run,  and  stopped  for  the  first 
time  thirty  miles  from  where  I started.  I sat  down  on  the 
roadside  and  played  a tune  on  my  flute,  intending  to  stay 
there  fifteen  minutes.  Right  across  the  road  from  me  was  a 
church,  and  a couple  were  going  in  to  get  married.  I in- 
tended to  go  in  aud  see  the  wedding,  but  it  was  over  so 
quickly  that  when  I got  to  the  door  the  bridal  party  was  com- 
ing out.  I ate  only  a few  cakes  for  my  dinner,  as  I sat  there 


BEHIND  THE  BAES ; 31498. 


149 


on  the  roadside.  By  the  time  night  came  on  I was  disap- 
pointed by  seeing  that  I had  gone  onh'  fifty  miles,  but  I did 
not  feel  tired.  I stopped  only  half  an  hour,  and  took  some 
coffee  and  bread  at  a restaurant  on  the  side  of  the  road.  I 
started  out  to  walk,  and  by  midnight  I was  very  tired  and  had 
made  only  sixty-five  miles.  I had  given  up  all  thought  of 
walking  a hundred  miles  in  a day  and  was  beginning  to  doubt 
whether  I could  walk  to  Paris  that  day.  When  I had  walked 
seventy  miles  I was  suffering  great  pain  from  the  leaders  in 
my  legs  and  knew  that  in  a few  minutes  after  I stopped  I 
would  not  be  able  to  walk  at  all,  and  determined  to  walk  until 
I could  walk  no  longer,  without  stopping  any  more.  At  half 
after  six  o’clock  I was  in  the  edge  of  Paris,  seventy  five  miles 
from  where  I had  started  twenty-one  and  a half  hours  before. 
I could  barely  walk  at  all,  and  dropping  down  on  a grass  plot 
I put  my  knapsack  under  my  head  and  tried  to  sleep,  but 
could  not.  In  five  minutes  I was  so  stiff  that  I could  hardly 
get  up.,  I managed  to  get  to  a hotel  about  9 o’clock  in  the 
morning  and  went  to  a room  and 'got  in  bed  to  go  to  sleep, 
but  between  the  fatigue  and  the  excitement  of  being  in  Paris, 
T could  not  sleep.  I got  up  and  sat  by  a window  and  looked 
out  on  the  .street.  But  I could  not  see  to  suit  me  there,  so  I 
went  down  stairs  to  the  front  part  of  the  hotel  and  tried  to 
rest  there.  I .soon  wanted  to  see  other  things  that  were  a 
little  beyond  where  I could  see  from  the  hotel,  so  I hobbled 
along  like  an  old  man  and  spent  the  whole  day  walking  the 
streets  of  Paris  when  I was  barely  able  to  walk. 

M}"  most  vivid  impressions  of  Paris  are  tho.se  made  by 
the  picture  galleries  in  the  Louvre.  Many  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful pictures  are  on  the  ceilings  and  in  the  days  I spent  look- 
ing through  the.se  galleries  I would  look  at  the  ceilings  until  I 
suffered  with  pain  in  the  back  of  my  neck  and  yet  I could  not 
resist  the  temptation  to  do  so. 

The  French  Revolution  had  long  been  to  me  a most  in- 
teresting event,  and  I went  and  saw  among  the  first  places  I 
visited  the  column  that  marks  the  spot  where  the  Bastile 
stood.  The  impress  of  the  influence  of  the  first  Napoleon 
upon  that  great  city  is  wonderful,  and  when  I stood  in  his 


160 


BEPIIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


gorgeou.s  mausoleum  and  looked  down  upon  the  casket  that 
contains  his  remains  it  was  hard  to  realize  that  there  was  all 
that  was  left  of  that  matchless  genius  that  had  commanded 
the  French  armies  from  the  snow  covered  ruins  of  Moscow  to 
where,  at  the  foot  of  the  pyramids,  he  said  to  his  men,  ‘ ‘The 
eyes  of  the  world  are  upon  you.” 

The  little  .story  that  I am  going  to  tell  you  now  is  one  to 
which  I suppose  some  prudes  may  object.  I am  going  to  tell 
it  just  as  far  as  it  is  printable  and  leave  you  to  imagine  the 
rest,  and  I am  going  to  do  this  in  the  interest  of  morals  and 
history  and  general  information,  and  I want  it  to  be  remem- 
bered when  I tell  it  that  I am  in  this  pri.son  under  the  charge 
of  having  said  things  about  the  relation  of  the  sexes  that 
were  demoralizing.  I have  told  you  in  this  connection,  and 
now  repeat  it,  that  never,  in  all  my  life,  have  I done  anything 
that  I would  now  be  a.shamed  to  tell  my  wife  or  my  dear  old 
mother,  were  she  living,  or  that  I would  now  be  ashamed  to 
have  my  wife  tell  our  only  daughter,  an  unmarried  girl 
eighteen  years  old,  now  at  school  in  Wa,shington  City,  about 
me.  I belie\'e  that  the  Government  of  the  United  States, 
that  has  me  here  as  a prisoner,  for  expressing  what  could 
.scarcely  be  called  an  opinion,  on  the  sexual  relation,  is  mak- 
ing a fundamental  mistake  in  leaving  the  rdjudication  of  this 
great  question  to  judges,  juries  and  attornevs  who  have  no 
reputations  either  as  moralists  or  .scientists  in  this  department, 
in.stead  of  selecting  men  of  the  highest  .special  qualifications 
for  the  work,  to  inform  the  people,  through  the  Government 
publications,  that  are  to  go  freely  to  the  old  and  young,  of 
both  .sexes,  about  an  appetite  that  is  as  natural  and  indis- 
pensalde  for  the  happiness  and  well  being — yea,  the  very  ex- 
istence of  our  race — as  is  the  appetite  for  food  and  the  desire 
for  .sleep,  or  bathing,  or  exerci.se. 

People  who  read  Byron’s  “Don  Juan,”  or  Boccacio’s 
‘‘Decamera,”  or  ‘‘Tom  Jone.s”  — Fielding  or  Laurence  Sterne, 
I forget  which — are  supposedly  forewarned  and  forearmed, 
and  purposely  read  that  which  they  antecedently  reasonably 
know  was  simply  intended  to  appeal  to  this  pas.sion  without 
an}'^  moral  quality  or  valuable  information  in  the  di.scussion. 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 81498. 


161 


I have,  as  I have  previously  suggested,  more  than  an  or- 
dinary reason  to  be  interested  in  the  literary  welfare  of  James 
Lane  Allen,  and  have  more  than  once  cited  the  strong  resem- 
blance, personally  and  as  a literary  man,  between  Mr.  Allen 
and  Washington  Irving,  who  was  one  of  my  ideals  of  a man. 
And  yet,  in  the  matter  of  the  relation  between  the  sexes,  I 
regard  Mr.  Allen’s  “Choir  Invisible,’’  a perfect  gem  of  Eng- 
lish, as  being  the  most  demoralizing  book  ever  printed  in 
America.  This  is  because  the  story  is  told  by  a man  of  the 
highest  moral  character  personally,  while  the  thought  of  il- 
licit relation  between  the  sexes  is  so  deftly  and  charmingly 
told  that  the  purest  young  Woman  in  the  world  would  not 
hesitate  to  sit  down  and  devour  it,  line  at  a time,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  her  parents  or  young  friends  of  either  sex.  It  is  a 
book  the  rapid  editions  of  which  have  carried  all  the  evil  of 
the  discussion  of  this  question  into  thousands  of  the  homes  of 
the  very  nicest  and  best  of  people  where  any  book  that  is 
commonly  suspected  of  having  any  taint  of  impurity  in  it 
would  never  have  come.  And  yet  Mr.  Allen’s  book  leaves  its 
readers  in  no  sense  advanced,  morall}'  or  intellectually,  by  it. 

The  censors  of  the  pre.ss  of  the  United  States,  who  are 
generally  self-appointed  and  have  forced  themselves  upon  the 
attention  of  the  Government,  and  are  possibly  .sincere  in  some 
instances,  are  rarely,  if  ever,  experts  in  this  matter,  and  the 
very  best  of  them  simply  have  a “zeal  not  according  to 
knowledge,’’  and  the  result  is  that  the  great  mas.ses  of  the 
people,  and  especially  of  intelligent  people,  are  profoundly 
ignorant  of  a .subject,  for  information  regarding  which  the 
United  States  Government  .should  have  a special  bureau  of 
information. 

There  is  in  America  what  is  properly  designated  a “mock 
modesty’’  that  is  not  .so  common  in  Europe.  A most  elegant 
lady  in  London  to  whom  I had  carried  a letter  of  introduction 
from  an  elegant  lady  in  America,  in  arranging  for  my  com- 
fort, at  the  home  of  her  husband  and  herself,  said  things  to 
me  that  actually  embarrassed  me,  and  that  her  friend  in  Amer- 
ica would  never  have  thought  of  saying  to  me;  and  yet  they 
'were  plainly  only  what  true  kindness  and  hospitality  sug- 


152 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


gested.  When  Bessie  Campbell  and  I were  walking  together 
in  the  Mammoth  Cave,  we  were  once  just  behind  our  two 
sisters  when  Miss  Virginia  Campbell  lost,  right  in  the  path  be- 
fore us,  a beautiful  .silk  garter.  I picked  it  up  and  handed  it 
to  her,  .saying,  “Houi  .soit  qui  mal  y pense,”  and  I believe  I 
did  jvrst  what  a true  “Knight  of  the  Garter”  should  have 
done.  She  smiled  an  acknowledgment,  turned  around  and 
put  her  foot  up  on  a stone  and  we  all  heard  it  go  on  with  a 
.snap  as  plain  as  that  of  “Miss  Betsy  Trotwood’s”  reticule. 

At  the  hotel  where  I stayed  there  was  a young  French- 
man who  spoke  English  scarcely  better  than  I .spoke  French, 
and  we  pooled  our  lingual  re.sources  in  communicating  with 
each  other,  and  mixed  the  two  languages.  One  night  he 
took  a young  German  and  me  with  him  to  a jardin  opera,  and 
each  of  the  three  spoke  the  language  of  either  of  the  others 
with  about  the  same  fluency.  We  then  put  the  three  lan- 
guages together  and  came  nearer  talking  volapuk  than  any- 
thing I have  ever  heard. 

You  have  seen,  already,  that  I had  some  striking  in- 
stances of  friend.ship  shown  me,  but  my  French  friend,  at  that 
hotel,  went  further  in  one  direction,  in  the  line  of  hospitalit}-, 
than  anybody  had  yet  done.  We  have  heard  much  about 
P'rench  morals,  but  I believe  what  I am  now  going  to  tell — 
partly  by  words  and  partly  by  sugge.stion — illustrates  one  fea- 
ture of  their  morals  better  than  you  commonly  find  in  books. 
My  P'rench  friend  was  a man  about  twenty-five  years  old,  and 
.seemed  to  have  fine  health 'and  buoyant  spirits.  He  was 
fairlv  good  looking.  He  lived  at  that  hotel  and  if  he  had 
any  business  it  was  only  such  as  he  could  leave  any  day  to  go 
walking  with  me,  as  he  frequently  did.  His  room  was  next 
door  to  mine,  and  be.sides  his  door  that  opened  out  on  the  .same 
hall  that  mine  did,  there  was  a door  between  our  two  rooms, 
which  latter  one  I never  saw  opened  but  once. 

This  man  had  two  women,  both  of  whom  .seemed  to  be 
regarded  as  his  wives,  both  by  himself  and  the  proprietor  of 
the  hotel.  They  ate  at  the  table  with  him  and  occupied  the 
same  room  with  him,  with  no  appearance  of  any  purpose,  of 
anybody,  to  conceal  the  fact.  They  acted  toward  him  in  pub- 


BEHIND  THE  BAES  ; 31498. 


153 


lie  just  as  any  lady-like  wife  acts  toward  her  husband,  and 
they  were  a happy  looking  trio.  Both  he  and  I alluded  to 
the  two  ladies  as  being  his  wives,  but  one  day  when  I alluded 
to  him  as  being  a married  man  he  said  he  had  never  been 
married.  I asked  him  if  he  did  not  think  it  was  wrong  to 
live  with  his  women,  or  waves,  as  he  was  doing,  without  hav- 
ing been  married  to  them,  and  he  seemed  utterly  incapable  of 
understanding  how  there  could  be  anything  wrong  in  it. 

I never  asked  him  anything  about  his  religious  opinions 
except  incidental!}"  one  day.  We  were  together  in  Notre 
Dame  cathedral  when  there  was  a very  grand  procession  of 
priests  marching  around  in  the  cathedral  in  some  very  gor- 
geous religious  ceremony.  I then  asked  him  what  was  his 
opinion  about  all  that,  and  he  .said  it  was  merely  a supersti- 
tion, but  was  all  well  enough  as  a meaps  of  amusement  and 
entertainment  for  a large  class  of  people.  His  two  wives 
were  apparently  each  about  twenty-one  years  old.  One  was  a 
brunette,  with  dark  e}"es  and  dark  hair,  was  of  fine  figure, 
medium  height,  and  while  not  a real  beaut}",  was  a very  hand- 
some, healthy  looking  woman.  Neither  of  them  knew  any 
English.  The  other  one  was  a blonde,  and  was  very  beauti- 
ful. She  had  beautiful  blue  eyes  and  a wealth  of  light  col- 
ored hair,  pink  and  white  complexion,  a beautiful  form  and 
exquisite  hands  and  arms,  and  was  perhaps  a little  under  size. 
She  was  dressed  in  exquisite  taste. 

One  day  I was  sitting  in  my  room  playing  the  flute.  I 
never  played  at  all  hand.somely,  but  only  simple  airs  and  some 
snatches  from  popular  operas.  I was,  by  no  means,  an  Or- 
pheus— not  even  a Pan.  As  an  artist  in  that  line  there  was 
nothing  in  my  playing  to  excite  the  admiration  of  any  one 
who  had  opportunity  to  hear  the  music  of  Paris.  I had 
heard  all  of  those  stories  about  it  being  unlawful  to  play  the 
Marselaise  in  Paris,  always  doubted  the  story,  and  played  it 
just  to  assure  myself  that  there  was  nothing  in  the  story. 
While  I was  playing  the  flute  the  door  that  was  betw’een  my 
room  and  that  of  my  friend  was  opened,  without  any  pre- 
monitory knocking,  and  the  pretty  blonde  woman  came  in  and 
fastened  the  door  behind  her,  and  greeted  me  w"ith  a pretty 


164 


BEHI!nD  the  BARS:  3149S. 


smile  and  bow,  saying  that  she  had  come  in  to  hear  me  play 
the  flute.  I thanked  her  for  the  compliment,  and  rating  my 
musical  attainment  at  its  par  value,  offered  her  one  of  the 
several  chairs  with  which  my  room  was  supplied.  She  de- 
clined the  chair  and  went  and  sat  down  on  my  bed.  She 
leaned  her  cheek  upon  her  hand  and  her  elbow  upon  a pillow, 
and  was  as  beautiful  as  a Mussulman’s  dream  of  houris  in  a 
Mohammedan  heaven. 

I felt  that  it  was  a time  when  my  strength  lay  in  my 
flute,  as  Sampson’s  did  in  his  hair- — from  hair  to  air  is  an  easy 
transition — and  I as  thoroughly  put  my  soul  into  that  flute  as 
ever  “Dick  Swiveller”  did  into  his,  with  the  “Marcioness’’ 
for  an  audience.  I played  all  that  part  of  my  repertoire  that 
was  from  Burns’  songs;  “Ye  Banks  and  Braes  o’  Bonny 
Boon,’’  “What’s  a’  the  Steer  Kimmer?’’  “Down  the  Burn, 
Davy  Love,’’  “The  Tngleside  for  Me,’’  “Coming  thro’  the 
Rye,’’  “Mary  of  Argyle,’’  “John  Anderson,  My  Joe,’’  and 
then  from  opera,  “I  Dreamed  that  I Dwelt  in  Marble  Halls," 
and  “When  the  Swallows  Homeward  Fly,,’  altogether  occu- 
pying an  hour.  During  all  this  time  the  pretty  blonde  sat,  or 
leaned,  on  mj'  bed,  her  Cinderella  feet  and  jiretty  ankles— and 
scrupulously  no  more — showing  from  under  tlie  bottom  of  her 
beautiful  white  .skirts  that  were  .spread  out  on  my  bed.  I felt 
all  safe  .so  long  as  I was  playing,  but  I was  afraid  to  .stop 
playing,  I finally  did  so,  however,  and  thanked  her  for  the 
compliment  she  had  done  me,  and  she  thanked  me  for  the  mu- 
.sic,  each  of  us  supplementing  with  smiles,  bows  and  blu.shes, 
the  inadequac}’  of  our  linguistic  powers,  and  .she  went  back 
to  her  room. 

The  next  day  I met  her  husband.  He  said  to  me  in  our 
combination  language  what  would  be  equivalent  in  English  to 
“Didn’t  my  wife  go  into  your  room  yesterday?’’  I said  “Yes.’’ 
He  .said,  “What  did  you  do?"  I said,  "I  played  the  flute  for 
her,  and  .she  sat  on  the  bed  and  li.stened.’’  FTom  that  point 
on  it  is  not  proper  to  put  into  a book  what  he  said,  but  he 
said  a good  deal  and  he  said  it  emphatically.  It  was  to  the 
effect  that  he  and  his  two  wives  all  liked  me,  that  I was  evi- 
dently an  intere.sting  gentleman  stranger  in  their  country,  and 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498, 


155 


that  between  us  there  had  existed  a friendship  for  some  time, 
that  they  were  all  inclined  to  show  me  every  mark  of  hospi- 
talit}'  and  kindness,  and  that  for  some  stupid  conception  of 
morals  that  I had  that  were  utterly  inconsistent  with  my 
other  evidences  of  good  sense,  I had  impolitel}^  declined  one 
of  the  highest  courtesies  in  a manner  that  lowered  me  in  the 
estimation  of  all  three  of  them;  that  some  views  about  morals 
that  I entertained  might  do  for  a new  country  like  America, 
but  were  not  up  to  the  standard  of  Europe. 

Of  course  he  did  not  say  it  all  in  exactly  that  language, 
for  he  could  not  speak  that  much  English,  but  that  is  partly 
what  he  said  in  French,  partly  in  English,  partly  in  gestures 
with  his  arms  and  hands,  partly  in  the  proverbial  French 
shrug  of  the  shoulders  and  partly  in  facial  grimaces,  and  all 
translated  into  current  conventional  English  by  me.  I was 
then  about  twenty-five  years  old,  unmarried,  and  never  ex- 
pecting to  be  married,  in  perfect  health,  in  a strange  countrjy 
an  infidel,  had  all  the  money  I wanted,  and  every  guarantee 
of  impunity  that  any  man  could  have,  and  with  nothing  but  a 
rational  conscience  to  control  my  action.  Now  I am  a man 
over  sixty-one  5’ears  old,  with  a devoted  wife  and  devoted 
children  of  both  sexes,  and  I am  in  the  penitentiary  charged 
with  having  written  that  which  tended  to  induce  lewdness 
between  men  and  women. 

I went  to  the  can-can  in  Paris,  and  a prett}’  girl  came  up 
to  me  and  taking  me  by  the  hand  fixed  her.self  and  waited 
for  me  to  put  my  arm  around  her  waist  and  dance  with  her, 
but  1 t(.'ld  her  I could  not  dance,  which  was  true,  and  iii  all 
tliat  I .saw  there,  saw  nothing  that  was  such  an  appeal  to  the 
])assion  of  a man  as  I have  seen  in  Christian  women,  wlio 
were  leaders  in  church  and  societ3^  in  a ball-room  in  Eexing- 
ton,  to  which  I had  gone  as  a newspaper  reporter. 

One  day  my  French  friend  and  I were  out  at  Bois  de 
Boulogne,  in  the  suburbs  of  Paris.  We  had  been  walking  up 
the  banks  of  the  Seine  for  a mile  or  two.  He  .said  we  were 
far  tnougli  away  from  any  hou.se  to  undress  and  go  in  swim- 
ming and  he  had  begged  me  to  do  so,  but  I had  declined.  I 
do  not  now  kno-w  why,  for  I was  fond  of  swimming.  While 


166 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  ;1498. 


we  were  talking,  I saw  up  the  river,  two  hundred  yards  ahead 
of  us,  and  out  in  the  river  a considerable  distance  from  the 
shore,  a man’s  head  come  up  out  of  the  water,  and  though  I 
heard  him  make  a scream,  it  was  so  unlike  any  American  sig- 
nal of  distress  that  I had  ever  heard  that  I did  not  recognize 
it  as  such,  but  I saw  the  head  so  quickly  disappear  under  the 
water  again  that  I thought  the  man  could  not  be  diving  just 
for  amusement,  and  as  it  flashed  over  my  mind  that  the  man 
was  drowning  I determined  to  run  and  swim  for  him.  I know 
enough  of  the  phenomena  of  mental  philosophy  to  know  that 
after  an  exciting  incident  of  that  kind  we  are  frequently  left 
under  the  impression  that  there  was  some  strange  premonition 
about  it,  and  that  there  was  a sort  of  a snpernatural  train  of 
events  that  led  up  to  the  incident.  These  are  recognized  facts 
in  works  on  the  phenomena  of  the  mind,  and  yet  it  seems  to 
me  that  I can  now  recollect  distinctly  that  while  that  man 
was  under  the  water  the  following  reflections  passed  through 
my  mind;  I have  always  believed  that  I was  destined  to  save 
some  drowning  man.  I narrowly  escaped  drowning  in  the 
middle  of  the  Mississippi  river.  I have  always  regretted  that 
I did  not  have  a chance  to  save  Doniphan  from  drowning.  I 
believe  he  suicided,  partly  in  .sorrow  for  what  he  had  said  to 
me.  Some  strange  power  from  behind,  that  I cannot  under- 
stand, has  brought  me  across  the  ocean  to  save  that  man 
drowning  yonder,  who  I never  saw  or  heard  of  before.  I am 
home  sick  and  if  I save  him  I will  think  my  mission  here  has 
been  fulfilled  and  I will  go  home.  If  I drown  in  trying  to 
save  him,  I will  die  like  a hero,  and  1 am  only  a poor  heart- 
broken man,  anyway,  and  I will  take  the  chances;  but  if  I 
stop  to  think  of  the  danger  my  courage  will  fail  me.  All  of 
this  passed  through  my  mind  in  a second  and  while  I was  rvni- 
ning  as  fast  as  1 could  the  two  hundred  yards  to  the  point 
nearest  the  drowning  man.  While  I was  running  he  came  up 
and  screamed  again.  I had  not  time  to  pull  off  any  part  of 
my  clothing,  and  had  a considerable  weight  of  gold  belted 
around  me  under  my  clothes.  The  whole  bank  of  the  river 
was  held  bj"  a wall  ten  feet  high.  I did  not  have  time  to 
climb  down  it,  and  ran  right  over  it,  at  full  speed,  and  fell  on 
a narrow  margin  of  the  soft  ground^below. 


feEHiND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


167 


Out  in  the  river  where  I had  last  seen  the  man  there 
was  not  even  a movement  of  the  water  to  show  where  the 
man  had  gone  down,  and  I had  to  calculate  distances  and  take 
ranges  of  objects  to  tell  where  to  swim  for  the  man,  and  all  of 
this  had  to  be  done  quick  enough  to  save  the  life  of  a man  who 
was  under  water,  if  I was  to  save  him  There  was,  near  by 
where  I fell  on  the  ground,  an  awkward,  clumsy  flat-bottomed 
boat,  with  no  oars  in  it.  It  was  about  fifteen  feet  long,  and 
six  feet  wide,  and  its  gunwales  stood  nearly  three  feet  above 
the  water.  It  was  fastened  by  a chain  that  was  twenty  feet 
long,  which  was  wrapped  around  a post  a dozen  times.  The 
post  was  eight  inches  in  diameter  and  stood  four  feet  above 
the  ground.  I knew  I would  not  have  time  to  unwind  the 
chain.  It  would  take  me  five  seconds  to  do  it  and  I could 
not  afford  to  use  more  than  two  seconds  on  that  boat.  The 
ground  seemed  soft  and  I determined  to  try  to  pull  up  the 
post.  I stooped  and  caught  my  arms  around  it  about  half 
way  down;  found  that  I could  shake  it,  and,  pulling  as  if  to 
save  my  own  life,  I pulled  that  post  up  from  two  feet  in  the 
ground,  threw  it  and  the  chain  into  the  boat,  gave  the  boat  a 
shove  with  my  foot,  and  jumped  into  it  at  the  same  time.  It 
went  toward  where  I last  saw  the  man,  but  was  going  too 
slowly  to  get  to  him  in  time,  and  the  boat  would  evidently 
not  go  half  way  to  him. 

I ran  to  the  end  of  the  boat  nearest  the  man  and  jumped 
into  the  river  and  swam  toward  the  man.  People  who  swim 
nude  or  in  bathing  suits  have  but  little  idea  of  what  swim- 
ming in  a full  suit  of  clothes  means.  Of  course  I was  tired 
even  before  I struck  the  water.  I swam  to  where  I thought 
the  man  ought  to  be.  I thought  of  the  saying,  “A  drowning 
man  will  catch  at  a straw,”  and  I thought  that  man  would 
catch  me  by  the  feet  under  the  water.  My  French  friend  had 
not  yet  gotten  to  the  river,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  I would 
drown  there  and  that  my  friends  at  home  would  never  know 
what  became  of  me,  but  I did  not  take  time  to  look  at  the 
world,  for  what  seemed  to  me  would  be  the  last  time,  before 
going,  in  one  more  minute — for  I was  so  exhausted  that  under 
the  water  I would  be  dead  in  a half  minute — into  an  eternal 
sleep. 


15S 


BEHiND  TEIE  BARS;  :^1498. 


One  beautiful  clear  day  I had  been  lying  on  iny  back  on 
the  slightly  sloping  lead  roof  of  Notre  Dame  cathedral,  look- 
ing in  vain  to  .see,  if  I could,  in  any  direction,  beyond  the 
the  limits  of  the  great  city  into  the  country.  I had  .seen,  at  a 
great  distance,  a continuous  stream  of  people  going  into  a 
low,  but  hand.soinely  built  house.  I was  .so  curious  to  know 
the  nature  of  that  house  and  what  it  could  be  that  took  that 
inces.sant  stream  of  people  into  it,  that  I carefully  counted  all 
squares  in  one  direction  and  then  in  another,  on  the  streets 
that  led  to  that  hou.se,  and  went  down  and  followed  the  streets, 
counting  the  squares,  and,  sure  enough,  came  up  to  the  low 
building  and  stream  of  people  that  I had  seen.  I followed 
the  crowd  in  and  found  it  to  be  the  Morgue.  There  were, 
lying  under  gla.ss,  with  jets  of  cold  water  falling  over  them, 
the  naked  dead  bodies  of  men  and  women  who  had  been 
found  dead  in  the  city,  and  had  been  carried  there  for  identi- 
fication, their  clothes  hung  up  near  them  and  a written  ac- 
count of  the  circumstances  under  which  they  had  been  found. 
There  were  brui.ses,  gashes  and  wounds  on  some  of  the  bodies, 
some  seeming  to  indicate  that  they  had  been  murdered,  and 
some  that  they  had  been  hurt  accidentally.  Some  had  been 
taken  out  of  the  river;  some  appearing  to  have  been  drowned 
accidentally  and  .some  by  suicide.  Some  of  those  taken  out 
of  the  river  had  lain  in  the  water  so  long  that  they  were 
greatly  swollen.  I recollect  distinctly,  to  this  day,  that  I 
am  here  a prisoner,  the  appearance  of  one  of  these  men  taken 
out  of  the  river  that  I thought  I would  look  like,  if  I drowned 
and  my  body  was  ever  lecovered. 

All  of  this  passed  through  my  brain  in  a .second,  while  I 
was  swimming  with  my  head  as  high  as  possible  above  the 
water,  in  order  to  see  the  man  if  he  should  come  up  again.  I 
knew  it  was  useless  for  me  to  dive  for  him,  both  because  I 
did  not  know  where  he  was,  and  because  I did  not  have  the 
breath  to  allow  me  to  do  so.  I had  all  the  time  been  calcu- 
lating the  time  that  that  man  could  stay  under  the  water  and 
still  be  alive.  When  I thought  his  last  .second  must  be  gone, 
I saw  just  the  hair  on  the  top  of  the  man’s  head  almost  right 
in  my  face.  The  man  was  evidently  upright  in  the  water, 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  3l498. 


159 


just  as  Doniphan  had  been.  There  was  not  a single  move- 
ment in  the  man  that  I could  see,  and  I thought  he  was  either 
dead  or  so  near  it  that  nothing  but  the  most  expert  resuscita- 
tion could  save  him,  even  if  I could  get  him  ashore.  I caught 
him  right  in  the  top  of  the  head,  by  his  pretty  long  hair,  with 
m}^  left  hand,  and  was  gratified  to  see  that  I could  easily  raise 
his  head  above  the  water,  and,  of  course,  I did  so.  I started 
to  swim  with  him,  holding  him  off  at  arm’s  length,  because  I 
thought  he  would  catch  me  and  drown  both  of  us;  but  seeing 
that  he  did  not  struggle,  I drew  him  up  to  my  body  and  held 
his  head  above  the  water  under  my  left  arm  and  swam  only 
with  my  right  arm.  It  was  easier  to  swim  with  him  and  hold 
his  head  above  the  water  than  I thought  it  would  be,  but  even 
then  I saw  that  every  stroke  that  I made  was  not  onlj"  a life 
and  death  struggle,  but  a struggle  for  two  lives  or  two  deaths. 
But  the  thought  that  I could  leave  that  man  and  swim  only  for 
my  own  life  never  occurred  to  me,  and  I thought  I might  as 
well  die  from  a struggle  that  would  break  a bipod  ve,ssel  as  to 
drown,  and  I saw  that  drowning  was  certain  unless  I used 
every  ounce  of  power  that  was  still  in  my  muscles.  I had 
come  near  drowning  when  we  were  hunting  for  Doniphan.  I 
remembered  how,  under  the  water,  I had  seen  the  light 
through  my  clo.sed  eye-lids  and  had  seen  and  heard  the  bub- 
bles that  went  up,  and  I wondered  how  long  it  would  be,  if  I 
went  down,  before  I lost  consciousness.  But  though  I was 
only  deistic  then — not  agnostic  and  then  atheistic  as  I after- 
ward became — there  never  came  into  my  mind  the  thought 
that  after  that  one  minute  that  ni}^  head  would  be  under  the 
water  there  would  ever  again  be  any  consciousness  in  my 
brain.  During  all  this,  and  at  the  same  time  unseen  to  me, 
that  boat  had  gotten  back  to  the  shore,  and  my  French  friend 
had  gotten  in  it  and  had  given  it  a shove  out  into  the  river, 
but  having  no  oars  could  do  no  more,  and  was  silently  watch- 
ing my  struggle  with  the  man.  I swam  to  that  boat  and  by  a 
last  great  effort  managed  to  get  mj^  hand  up  over  the  edge  of 
the  boat.  I cannot  recollect  whether  my  French  friend  was 
still  in  it,  bui;  if  he  was  he  did  not  help  me  at  all.  I swung 
on  to  that  boat  in  that  way  for  a quarter  of  a minute  to  gain 


160 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


the  breath  that  I knew  I must  have  to  raise  my.self  and  the 
man  into  the  boat.  I finally  began  to  draw  up  myself  and  the 

man,  who  proved  to  be  as  large  as  I was,  with  my  one  arm. 
I got  over  the  gunwale  and  into  the  boat,  and  as  near  gone  as 
I was,  I had  the  strength  and  presence  of  mind  to  pull  the 
man  in  after  me  feet  foremost;  and  with  his  head  down,  as  I 
pulled  him  over  the  edge  of  the  boat  the  water  poured  out  of 
his  mouth  as  if  out  of  a jug. 

When  I had  gotten  him  into  the  boat  he  dropped  limp  on 
the  bottom  like  a dead  man,  and  I thought  he  was  dead,  and 
sat  for  a few  seconds  on  a seat  of  the  boat  to  get  my  breath. 
I felt  greatly  disappointed,  but  determined  still  to  work  with 
the  man.  I picked  him  up  and  set  him  on  a seat  of  the  boat 
and  sat  by  him.  His  head  fell  over  on  my  shoulder  and  I 
sat  there  for  five  minutes,  I suppose,  thinking  the  man  was 
dead.  Finally,  the  man,  withovft  moving,  said,  in  a low' 
voice,  “Merci,  merci,  mille  fois  merci,”  and  I knew  that  I 
had  saved  my  man.  Sometime  during  all  this,  in  some  way 
that  I cannot  now'  recall,  even  if  I knew'  then,  the  young  man 
who  had  started  out  with  me  had  gotten  into  that  boat.  I do 
not  remembei  that  he  said  a word  at  any  time  during  my  life 
and  death  struggle.  There  seemed  to  be  no  wa}'  that  he  could 
help  me  except  to  swim  to  my  assistance,  and  that  probablj' 
would  not  have  helped  me,  even  if  he  had  been  willing,  and 

able,  to  do  it.  His  first  words  to  me  were  strange.  He  said, 
“I  asked  you  to  undress  and  go  in  swimming  with  me  and 
you  would  not  do  it,  and  now  you  have  gone  in  sw'imming 
with  your  clothes  on.”  I saw  from  the  despondent  look  of 
the  man  that  I had  saved  and  from  the  fact  that  he  had  laid 
his  hat,  ve,st  and  cravat  on  the  shore,  as  if  to  tell  what  had 
become  of  him,  that  his  purpo.se  had  been  to  suicide,  and 
that,  unable  to  swim,  he  had  jumped  into  the  water  and  strug- 
gled out  into  the  river. 

We  sat  there  until  we  had  gotten  our  breath,  and  then  I 
got  his  hat,  vest  and  cravat  for  him,  and  he  put  them  on  and 
he  took  my  arm,  and  I walked  with  him  to  his  home,  a mile 
or  more  aw'ay.  When  w'e  got  to  his  home,  which  was  also 
his  place  of  busine.ss,  I saw  a sign  above  his  door  wliich  said. 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


161 


“Marchand  de  Gaunterie;”  and  when  I had  gone  inside  with 
him  I found  that  he  only  had  kid  gloves  for  sale.  We  walked 
through  the  store  and  into  the  residence  part  of  the  house, 
and  his  wife  came  to  meet  us.  She  was  a good  looking  and 
healthy  looking  woman  about  forty  years  old.  She  showed 
no  excitement,  and  not  a word  passed  between  her  and  her 
husband,  and  he  went  and  sat  with  his  head  down  in  a corner 
of  the  room,  behind  the  door  that  came  in  from  the  store. 
They  seemed  to  have  quarreled.  She,  seeing  me  wet,  and 
evidently  taking  in  the  situation,  brought  me  some  wine, 
which  I declined,  and  bidding  them  both  good-bye  I left  them, 
and  at  this  place  I will  begin 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

I had  left  my  home  feeling  very  sad,  and  was  still  sad 
and  home-sick.  I had,  whenever  I found  an  opportunity, 
tried  to  get  any  information  on  the  subject  of  religion  that  I 
could,  but  none  of  it  had  been  satisfactory.  In  England  re- 
ligion was  so  much  a part  of  the  government  that  nobody 
seemed  to  regard  it  as  a thing  to  be  investigated  upon  its  own 
merits,  and  to  say  anything  against  it  seemed  to  be  regarded 
by  the  people  as  talking  treasonably  against  the  government. 
In  France  I saw  nobod}^  that  seemed  to  regard  religion  other- 
wise than  as,  in  America,  we  regard  the  story  of  Santa  Claus, 
at  Christmas — a thing  that  by  intellectual  people  was  not  sus- 
posed  to  be  true,  but  which  had  so  long  obtained  in  the  coun- 
try, and  so  long  afforded  a certain  entertainment  to  some  peo- 
ple that  nobody  felt  inclined  to  dispel  the  illusion. 

I was  not  entirely  free  from  the  influence  of  my  religious 
rearing,  I wanted  to  abandon  my  purpose  of  going  to  Pales- 
tine, and  while  I felt  the  reproach  that  attaches  to  him  who 
puts  his  hand  to  the  plow  and  looks  back,  I tried  to  persuade 
myself  that  in  some  way  some  kind  of  a Providence  that  pre- 
sides over  the  destinies  of  men  had  sent  me  all  the  way  there 
to  save  the  life  of  that  man,  and  that,  now  that  I had  done 
thiSj  my  mission  in  that  direction  had  been  accomplished,  and 


162 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


that  I ought  to  go  home.  I pondered  over  the  matter  for 
several  days  and  finally  decided  I would  go  on  in  my  journey. 
I got  my  passport  for  Italy,  and,  one  morning,  .started  out  of 
Paris.  I have  explained  to  you  that  I did  not  then,  and  do 
not  now,  believe  in  premonitions,  and  I believe  what  are  com- 
monly called  premonitions  are  partly  the  result  of  a common 
disposition  to  falsify  in  order  to  tell  something  strange  and 
parth'  owing  to  a phenomenon  of  the  mind  that  makes  us 
think,  after  a startling  fact  has  happened,  that  we  had  had  a 
premonition  of  it,  so  that  I will  now  tell  what  occurred  as  it 
now  seems  to  me  it  did  occur,  with  a probability  that  it  was 
not  really  what  happened. 

I started  out  of  Paris  and  was  trying  to  entertain  myself 
with  the  prospect  of  crossing  the  Alps  on  foot  as  the  soldiers 
of  Hannibal  and  Napoleon  had  done,  and  of  seeing  Rome, 
Naples,  Pompeii,  Versuvius  and  all  the  wonders  with  which 
Italy  is  filled.  I felt  well  and  strong  in  body  at  least — and  I 
tried  to  inspire  myself  with  extra  energy  in  thinking,  in  walk- 
ing and  in  enjoyment  and  appreciation  of  this  beautiful  dream 
of  my  boyhood,  inspired  by  such  .stories  as  “Sanford  and 
Merton,’’  that  I remembered  as  traveling  with  knapsacks  on 
their  backs.  But  my  efforts  to  enthuse  myself  were  entirely 
unavailing,  and  I found  that,  in  spite  of  all  I could  do,  my 
thoughts  were  all  turning  back  to  my  home,  and  my  steps  got 
to  be  faltering,  slow  and  heavy.  Finally  I stopped  and  sat  on 
a stone  .seat  on  the  side  of  the  pavement  in  the  suburb  of 
Paris,  from  which  went  the  road  I was  to  take  for  Italy.  I 
sat  there  for  half  an  hour,  and  in  order  that  nothing  might 
distract  my  thoughts  I leaned  forward  and  put  my  elbows  on 
my  knees,  and  my  face  in  my  hands,  and  clo.sed  my  eyes.  I 
felt  that  right  there  was  a turning  point  in  my  life,  and  after 
balancing  the  pros  and  cons,  as  best  I could,  I aro.se  and 
turned  my  face  homeward. 

About  that  time  my  .sister  Alice,  a lovely  girl,  aged  six- 
teen, had  died  at  m}'  home.  I.  could  receive  no  letters  from 
home,  traveling  as  I was,  and  had  heard  nothing  of  my  sis- 
ter’s death.  She  had  been  a great  comfort  to  our  mother, 
and  it  would  now  seem  to  me,  if  I were  unscientific  and  .su- 


BKHINt)  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


163 


perstitiou.s,  that  some  kind  of  a Pro^’idence,  or  \v]:at  they  now 
call  telepathy,  had  impressed  me  that  1113'  mother,  more  than 
ordinarih’,  needed  1113'  presence.  M3'  stor3',  even  though  I am 
merel3'  touching  the  salient  and  peculiar  points  of  1113’  life  is 
probabh'  getting  too  long  for  the  patience  of  those  who  ma3’ 
read  it,  and  as  there  was  nothing  eventful  in  1113-  journey 
home,  which  I made  b3'  rail,  and  in  the  ordiuar3'  wa3's  of 
travel,  I will  sa3'  nothing  about  it.  I got  to  Lexington,  with- 
in eight  miles  of  m3'  home,  before  I heard  of  m3'  sister’s 
death.  As  I came  down  the  walk  to  1113-  home,  m3'  mother 
met  me  with  that  wonderful  expression  of  love  that  a mother 
feels  for  her  child.  It  was  a blending  of  sadness  and  glad- 
ness. Though  I had  been  reared  on  a large  farm  I knew  but 
little  about  farming,  but  I had  intended  to  go,  at  once,  to 
work  on  the  farm,  both  for  the  purpose  of  doing  some  good 
and  to  bur3^  m3'  sorrows,  and  the  next  da>'  after  getting  home, 
I got  m3'  oldest  clothes  and  went  to  work,  with  the  Negroes, 
in  a large  corn-field.  It  was  hard  to  me,  because  I had  not 
been  accustomed  to  it,  but  I soon  became  interested  in  it,  and 
found  in  it  the  first  mental  relief  that  I had  had  for  years, 
and  I would  sa3^  now  to  all  persons,  of  either  sex,  old  or 
3mung,  rich  or  poor,  that  m3' experience  is  that  ph3'sical  labor, 
called  a curse  in  the  Bible  stor3'  of  Eden,  is  the  greatest  bless- 
ing known  to  liumanit3',  and  that  there  is  hardh',  if  at  all, 
an 3^  such  thing  as  happiness  without  it.  I found,  working 
along  side  b3'  side  with  the  Negroes,  and  in  talking  with  them 
as  we  worked,  comfort  of  bod3'  and  quiet  of  mind,  such  as  I 
had  vainl3'  sought  in  the  compan3'  of  learned  men  and  women . 

One  da3'  a ver3'  large  and  tall  locust  tree  blew  down  in 
the  back  3'ard  of  our  home,  and  an  old  Negro  man  and  a 
young  one  and  I were  all  chopping  it  up  with  axes.  I felt 
more  pride  in  being  able  to  strike  accurateh'  and  powerful^', 
.so  as  to  drive  that  axe  into  that  locust  wood,  than  I had  ever 
done  from  preaching  a sermon,  and  if  there  was  not  some- 
thing like  a smile  of  pride  on  1113'  face  I could  feel  something 
like  one  in  m3’  heart.  My  mother  came  and  stood  and  looked 
at  us,  and  talked  to  us,  and,  for  the  first  time  in  a long  time, 
I could  see  ju.st  the  faintest  .su.spicion  of  a happ3'  smile  on  her 


164 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


face.  It  seemed  to  me  that  she  had,  for  the  first  time,  begun 
to  realize  that  the  fact  of  my  being  an  infidel  did  not  neces- 
sarily make  me  a bad  man.  Negroes  are,  in  some  instincts, 
quicker  than  white  people.  I could  .see  from  the  expression 
on  the  face  of  the  old  Negro  that  he  understood  the  situation 
and  was  happy  in  .sympathy  with  my  mother  and  me.  In  all 
of  my  experiences  through  life,  clear  up  to  this  hour  that  I 
am  in  prison,  the  Negroes  have  always  been  my  friends,  and 
among  the  pri.soners  here  they  are  my  friends. 

Our  axes  kept  time  to  our  talk  as  we  chopped  on  that 
tree.  The  old  Negro  while  still  chopping  or  stopping  to 
remove  some  cut  off  limb  of  the  tree,  began  telling,  in  the 
usual  Negro  lingo,  a story  to  my  mother  which  I will  give, 
in  ordinary  English,  and  which  was  about  as  follows: 

“Once  there  w'ere  some  smart  men  who  wanted  to  try  an 
experiment  by  taking  a little  baby  boy  and  raising  him  up  in 
a nice  place  wdiere  he  w’ould  have  all  kinds  of  comforts  and 
good  things,  but  they  were  not  going  to  tell  him  anything 
about  God,  or  about  religion,  or  about  the  world,  and  they 
were  not  going  to  tell  him  anything  about  women.  They  just 
wanted  to  see  what  he  could  find  out  by  his  own  thinking. 
So  they  found  a beautiful  valley  in  the  mountains  that  was  so 
surrounded  by  mountains  that  there  was  only  one  place  where 
he  could  get  out  and  there  was  always  a guard  there  to  keep 
him  from  going  out.  He  had  a beautiful  house  in  the  valley, 
and  horses,  dogs,  boats  and  plenty  of  .servants,  but  they  were 
all  men,  who  would  be  discharged  if  they  talked  to  the  young 
man,  except  just  what  had  to  be  done  to  wait  on  him.  With 
all  of  these  nice  things  around  him  that  child  grew  up  to  be  a 
young  man  without  ever  having  smiled  and  never  seemed  to 
be  happ3^ 

People  on  the  outside  of  that  valley  knew  about  the 
young  man  in  there,  and  there  were  some  pretty  girls  who 
heard  of  him  and  they  were  so  anxious  to  see  him,  because 
they  felt  so  sorry  for  him  that  they  were  determined  they 
would  see  him.  They  had  money  and  they  bribed  the  guard 
to  let  them  in,  and  bribed  the  servent  men  inside,  so  that  no- 
body but  them  would  ever  know  of  it,  and  one  night  the  girls 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  ; 31498. 


185 


got  into  the  valley  and  hid  themselves  in  some  large  flowers 
so  that  they  might  see  the  young  man  the  next  morning  when 
he  came  walking  in  the  garden.  Sure  enough,  the  young 
man  came  walking  along  toward  where  the  girls  were,  and  in 
their  anxiety  to  see  him  well,  they  attracted  his  attention. 
He  looked  at  them  and  was  alarmed,  but  when  he  saw  that 
they  would  not  hurt  him  he  stood  and  looked  at  them  and 
seemed  to  enjoy  doing  so. 

Just  then  the  manager  of  the  whole  place,  who  had  been 
kept  in  ignorance  of  what  had  happened,  came  running,  very 
much  alarmed  for  fear  he  would  be  put  out  of  his  position, 
and  caught  the  young  man  and  led  him  away  and  had  some  of 
his  servants  to  put  the  girls  out  of  the  valley  immediately. 
The  young  man  asked  the  manager  what  those  things  were  he 
had  seen  in  the  flowers,  and  the  manager  being  afraid  to  tell 
him  they  were  young  women,  said  to  the  man,  ‘They  are  lit- 
tle devils.’  And  now,  old  Mistress,  that’s  what’s  the  matter 
with  Marse  Charlie;  he  just  wants  one  of  them  little  devils.” 

I saw  long  before  the  old  Negro  got  through  that  he  had 
gotten,  from  somewhere,  a modernized  version  of  the  story  of 
‘‘Rasselas,  Prince  of  Abyssinia.”  My  [mother  and  I both 
smiled,  but  I cannot  remember  what  either  of  us  said,  if  we 
said  anything,  but  the  words  of  that  old  Negro,  ‘‘I  want  one 
er  them  little  devils,”  went  through  my  brain  many  times, 
but  I staved  it  off  from  me  and  finally  got  rid  of  it  by  think- 
ing of  nothing  but  my  work  on  the  farm. 

I had  a brother-in-law  and  sister,  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Grissim, 
who  lived  in  Georgetown,  Ky. , and  they  had  a family  of  most 
interesting  children,  some  of  whom  were  just  old  enough  to  go 
into  society.  As  a family  the  success  in  life  of  those  children 
has  been  phenomenal.  I went  one  evening,  sometime  in  the 
pleasant  season  of  the  year,  I cannot  now  remember,  to 
Georgetown  to  see  the  family  of  Dr.  Grissim  and  to  spend 
the  night  there.  My  neice,  Dida  Gri.ssim,  now  Mrs.  S.  F. 
Deib,  of  San  Jo.se,  California,  was  then  and  is  now  remark- 
ably attractive  personally  and  otherwise.  She  and  the  other 
members  of  the  family  told  me  that  she  and  a lady  friend  and 
their  two  e.scorts  were  going  that  night  to  a dancing  party  at 


166 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


Mr.  June  Ward’s,  about  three  miles  out  in  the  couutry.  They 
said  they  were  going  in  a large  carriage  and  wanted  me  to  go 
with  them.  They  said  the}"  knew  I would  not  dance — I never 
could — but  that  there  were  man}"  beautiful  and  elegant  things 
there  with  which  I could  entertain  myself,  and  that  the 
chances  were  I would  find  numerous  people  there  who  would 
be  glad  to  see  me,  including  Mr.  and  Mrs,  Ward;  that  the 
party  was  informal  and  that  they  had  a right  to  bring  any 
guests  of  theirs,  and  my  neice  and  all  of  them  most  earnestly 
besought  me  to  go.  I had  no  idea  in  the  world  of  going  and 
peremptorily  declined,  though  I had  on  my  clerical  costume 
that  I had  never  discarded,  and  which  I would  have  worn 
under  any  circumstances.  The  house  of  Junius  Ward,  who 
was  a ver}"  wealthy  and  cultivated  Southern  planter,  who 
spent  his  summers  there,  was  the  handsomest  country  resi- 
dence that  had  been  built  in  Kentucky.  Mr.  Ward  said  he 
paid  $50,000  for  the  building  and  then  went  on  and  just  quit 
counting.  The  family  had  traveled  much  and  the  house  was 
filled  with  the  most  costly  of  furniture,  books,  elegant  pic- 
tures, curios,  and  articles  of  vertue  from  all  countries.  I had 
heard  of  the  beauties  of  the  place  for  some  years,  but  had 
never  seen  it.  I had  met  the  .son,  George,  and  found  him  a 
very  elegant  and  kind  gentleman.  I knew  the  family  knew 
about  me,  and  knew  that  I would  be  heartily  welcomed,  and 
while  I dreaded  the  idea  of  going  into  company,  I was  ex- 
ceedingly anxious  to  .see  not  merely  the  fine  hou.se,  but  the 
quaint  and  curious  things,  books  and  pictures  that  I expected 
to  find  in  it,  and  when  they  came  to  start,  while  I still  re- 
fused to  get  inside  of  the  carriage,  as  they  begged  me  to  do, 
I compromised  by  getting  up  with  the  driver. 

We  turned  off  of  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  Ken- 
tucky’s famous  turnpikes  into  the  large  grounds  of  the  Ward 
home.  We  were  late  and  they  were  dancing  in  an  immense 
hall  when  we  got  there.  Our  party  was  most  cordially 
greeted  by  many  persons,  guests,  host  and  hostess,  and  I was 
surprised  and  pleased  to  see  how  many  people  knew  me  and 
knew  of  me,  even  in  in.stances  when  I neither  knew,  or  knew 
of  them,  and  on  being  presented  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ward  I 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


167 


found  them  delightful  people,  and  a beautiful  combination  of 
the  hospitalities  of  Kentucky  and  New  Orleans.  When  we 
had  talked  a half  hour  or  so,  I told  then  plainly  that  I was 
not  a society  man,  and  felt  that  I was  de  trop,  at  an  occasion 
of  that  kind;  that  I had  only  come  through  the  persuasion  of 
my  friends,  and  that  my  purpose  was  to  see  their  library,  pic- 
tures and  curios,  and  that  I did  not  want  them  to  take  from 
their  other  gue.sts  any  of  their  time  to  entertain  me.  They 
accepted  my  explanation  gracefully  and  bade  me  make  myself 
at  home. 

The  young  man  who  was  at  that  time  the  devoted  beau 
of  my  neice,  and  came  with  her  in  the  carriage,  was  a fine 
young  fellow  named  Jesse  Webb.  He  and  his  brother  Will, 
had  gone  into  the  Confederate  army,  and  Will  had  been  killed 
and  Jesse  had  fought  through  to  the  end  of  the  war.  He 
sang  beautifully  and  was  very  witty,  and  of  infinite  humor. 
He  was  a great  friend  to  me  and  while  I always  called  him 
Jesse,  he  called  me  “Mr.  Charlie,”  apparently  as  a part  of  his 
Episcopal  respect  for  the  fact  that  I had  been  a clergyman. 

I spent  .some  time  in  looking  at  the  library  and  then  be- 
gan the  inspection  of  the  pictures  that  were  on  the  walls  of 
two  immense  parlors  that,  by  sliding  doors,  were  thrown  into 
one.  When  I started  around  the  walls  of  one  of  these  par- 
lors I did  not  see  anybody  in  them,  but  after  awhile  I noticed 
that  in  the  other  parlor,  behind  the  part  of  the  wall  into 
which  one  of  the  large  doors  slid,  there  were  only  two  per- 
sons, a lady  and  a gentleman,  whose  voices  I could  hear  with- 
out hearing  the  words.  Their  tone  was  that  of  dignified  con- 
versation— neither  serious  nor  frivolous,  and  it  seemed  to  con- 
trast with  that  of  the  merry  talking  and  laughing  out  in  the 
hall,  among  the  dancers.  I noticed  that  the  voice  of  the 
young  woman  was  exceedingly  sweet,  and  mingled  with  the 
pictures  on  the  cauva.sses,  there  came  into  my  mind  a kind 
of  a picture  of  that  woman,  and  I felt  .some  curiosity  to  see 
her.  I went  over  a good  many  of  the  pictures  rather  hur- 
riedly so  that  I could  get  to  the  parlor  in  which  the  two  were, 
and  see  the  girl  or  woman. 

In  looking  at  the  pictures  my  back  was  necessarily  to- 


168 


BEHIND  THE  BARS,  31498. 


ward  the  couple,  and  I could  only  by  futrive  glances  get  to  see 
the  woman,  at  the  distance  of  across  the  large  parlor.  These 
glances  made  me  think  that  she  was  exceedingly  beautiful  and 
sweet  in  appearance  and  graceful  and  intelligent,  and  dressed 
in  beautiful  taste  in  half  mourning — a silk  of  checked  black 
and  white,  and  she  seemed  to  be  about  twenty-one  years  old. 
She  was  talking  to  a young  man  who  was  not  at  all  handsome, 
but  who  seemed  to  be  more  than  ordinarily  intelligent  and 
fluent  in  conversation,  and  it  struck  me  as  a strange  thing 
that  that  couple  had  gone  off  from  the  rest  of  that  gay  com- 
pany and  were  sitting  there  engaged  in  earnest  and  thought- 
ful, though  apparently  pleasant  and  entertaining  conversa- 
tion, when  there  seemed,  so  far  as  I could  judge,  not  to  be 
anything  about  love  in  it.  When  I turned  another  angle  in 
the  wall  I could  see  the  two  better,  though  I did  not  dare  to 
look  straight  at  them,  and  while  it  was  almost  still  in  the  par- 
lors, I could  hear  a little  better  what  they  were  talking  about, 
and  I became  moie  convinced  that  my  first  impressions  of  the 
two  were  correct. 

During  all  this  time  Jesse  and  others  had  come  into  the 
parlors  occasionally  and  came  to  inquire  if  I was  having  a 
nice  time.  About  this  time  Jesse  came  in  and  came  rapidly 
up  to  me  as  if  he  had  to  get  back  for  some  engagement  in  the 
dance,  his  face  beaming  as  if  he  felt  a kind  of  inspiration  in 
what  he  was  going  to  say,  and  he  said,  “Oh,  Mr.  Charlie, 
there  is  a young  lady  here  that  I feel  certain  you  ought  to 
know.  I know  you  would  be  delighted  with  her,  and  I know 
she  would  be  with  you.  She  is  in  .second  mourning  for  her 
brother  and  will  not  dance  and  you  and  she  would  be  delight- 
ful company  for  each  other,  and  I jirst  want  you  to  let  me, 
please,  introduce  you  to  her.’’  I knew  immediately  that  he 
must  be  alluding  to  the  young  lady  at  whom  I had  been  glanc- 
ing as  she  talked  to  that  young  man,  and  with  the  least  show 
of  resistance,  some  of  which  I felt  that  I had  to  keep  up  to 
maintain  my  consistency,  I agreed  to  be  presented  to  her. 
Jesse  took  me  up  and  introduced  me  to  her  as  Miss  Lucy  Peak, 
and  he  did  what  I think  was,  under  the  circumstances,  a very 
elegant  and  appropriate  thing.  He  said  to  us  both  that  we 


BEHIND  THE  BAES ; 31498. 


169 


were  both  his  friends,  and  gave  a little  outline  sketch  of  who 
she  was  and  who  I was,  and  said  he  hoped  our  acquaintance 
would  culminate  in  a lasting  friendship,  as  he  believed  it 
would  do,  and  having  said  this  with  a graceful  combination  of 
seriousness  and  humor,  and  with  a parting  injunction  to  her 
to  make  me  have  a nice  time,  he  bowed  himself  out  and  left 
us  three  together. 

The  gentleman  who  had  been  talking  with  her  talked 
with  both  of  us  for  a quarter  of  an  hour,  and  then  gallantly 
and  gracefully  gave  way  to  me,  bowed  and  retired  to  the 
dancing  hall,  leaving  “Miss  Tucy,”  as  I soon  asked  permis- 
sion to  call  her,  and  me  the  sole  occupants  of  the  two  large 
parlors.  Like  the  Queen  of  Sheba,  I soon  saw  that  all  of  my 
first  conceptions  of  the  young  woman  were  more  than  realized 
in  her  actual  presence.  While  her  face,  regarded  simply  as 
an  artist  would  do  it,  was  not  so  beautiful  as  that  of  some 
other  women  I had  seen,  it  was  exceedingly  beautiful,  and 
taken  in  connection  with  an  expression  in  it  that  indicated 
high  qualities  of  head  and  heart,  it  was  the  most  beautiful 
face  that  I had  ever  seen  or  have  ever  seen  to  this  day.  It  is 
strange  sometimes  to  analyze  what  it  is  that  makes  a pretty 
woman’s  face  beautiful.  I was  not  prepared  to  say  the  very 
first  minute  that  I saw  Miss  Lucy  that  I was  in  love  with  her, 
but  there  were  dimples  in  the  corners  of  her  mouth  either  one 
of  which  I would  have  paid  her  a thousand  dollars  to  let  me 
kiss;  and  I said  to  myself  that  I was  going  to  make  it  one  of 
the  aims  of  my  life  to  get  that  woman  to  let  me  kiss  her  on 
one  of  those  dimples. 

She  was  sitting  on  a rosewood  and  silk  divail  that  A.  T. 
Stewart,  the  great  merchant  of  New  York- — whose  body  was 
.stolen  by  a friend  of  mine,  who  is  now  a prisoner  in  this  pen- 
itentiary— had  bought  for  Mr.  Ward  in  Paris.  It  was  just 
large  enough  for  two.  I sat  down  on  it  beside  Miss  Lucy, 
first  in  the  ordinary  way,  and  then  I turned  around  toward 
her,  and  putting  one  knee  up  on  the  divan , I put  my  other 
leg  over  my  ankle  so  that  I could  sit  facing  her,  and  she  sit- 
ting with  her  back  in  the  curved  end  of  the  divan  faced  me, 
and  in  that  position  we  talked. 


170 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  ;1498. 


I took  up  the  introductiou  to  her  where  Jesse  had  left  it 
off,  aud  made  her  tell  me  about  herself.  She  lived  in  the 
country,  she  said,  about  two  miles  from  there.  Her  mother 
had  died  when  she  was  young,  and  her  father,  an  elderly  gen- 
tleman, was  a widower.  She  had  lost  her  youngest  brother, 
who  was  a young  man  to  whom  she  was  devoted,  a year  or 
.so  before,  and  she  lived  with  her  father,  and  she  had  other 
brothers  and  sisters,  some  of  whom  lived  near  by  and  some 
in  another  state.  She  was  twenty  years  old,  and  had  spent 
some  years  of  her  life  in  a boarding  school  and  had  graduated 
a year  before.  I felt  that  Jesse’s  introduction  of  us  had 
bridged  over  the  formalism  ordinarily  supposed  to  be  incum- 
bent on  first  acquaintance,  and  in  apparent  absence  of  mind, 
while  I was  talking  or  listening,  I did  not  hesitate  to  toy  with 
some  articles  of  her  toilet,  fan,  gloves,  handkerchief  or  other 
things  that  came  over  my  way,  and  I asked  her  to  let  me  see 
her  pretty  watch  that  her  dead  brother  had  given  her  and  she 
did  so.  She  was  formal  sufficiently  to  be  perfectly  dignified 
and  yet  was  not  prudish,  and  .she  was  gracefully  reserved  and 
5^et  not  cold,  and  when  I was  perhaps  just  a little  freer  and 
easier  in  my  style  than  the  code  prescribed,  she  did  not  rebuke 
me;  and  I saw  plainly,  from  the  beginning,  that  she  was  a 
woman  with  whom  any  attempt  at  undue  familiarity  would 
be  fatal  to  any  man  who  made  it,  whatever  may  have  been  his 
claims.  We  sat  there  and  talked  a good  while,  her  face  grow- 
ing more  beautiful  to  me  with  every  new  feature  in  it  that  I 
examined.  In  books  she  was  entertaining  aud  .sensible,  with- 
out being  .sophomoric  or  pedantic.  There  was  an  evident  and 
charming  absence  of  any  purpo.se  on  her  part  to  make  what  is 
known  as  the  “fir.st  impression”  on  me,  and  she  .seemed  all 
the  time  to  hold  something  in  i'e.serve  that  would  delight  me 
to  know  of  her.  I felt  my  heart  going  toward  her  all  the 
time.  I soon  got  .so  that  I felt  that  she  could  see  this,  and  I 
did  not  care  if  she  did — rather  hoped  she  would.  I finally 
.suggested  that  we  should  rest  .some  by  walking;  aud  if  she 
was  graceful  in  .sitting,  she  was  surpassingly  so  in  walking. 
She  took  my  arm,  not  in  that  half-hearted  way  that  makes  a 
man  afraid  that  any  little  unexpected  movement  will  loose  the 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


171 


woman’s  hand  and  arm  from  his  arm,  and  not  with  that 
swing  onto  a man’s  arm  that  some  women  have,  that  is  gen- 
erally pleasant  to  the  man  and  a little  compromising  to  the 
woman;  but  in  that,  as  in  all  other  matters,  Miss  Lucy  had  a 
most  charming  conservatism,  and  I felt  ennobled  by  her  com- 
panionship as  I never  had  done  before  in  inj^  life.  The  whole 
world  seemed  to  have  changed  again,  and  I was  exceedingly 
happy. 

We  walked  together  some  time  and  we  were  finally  in- 
vited to  go  together  to  supper.  We  both  enjoyed  the  supper, 
which  was  a splendid  one,  and  into  our  table  talk  put  a little 
more  humor,  perhaps,  than  we  had  into  our  former  conversa- 
tion. I never  believed  in  helping  a lady,  on  an  occasion  of 
that  kind,  and  waiting  until  she  had  eaten,  but  I got  us  a nice 
assortment  of  good  things  on  one  plate,  and  we  ate  off  the 
same  plate.  I knew  it  was  not  good  policy,  nor  good  manner, 
to  monopolize  her  company,  and  I gave  her  up  to  her  other 
friends,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  for  awhile,  and  came  back  to 
her  in  good  time  to  see  her  off  home  in  her  carriage,  as  she 
had  promised  me  I might  do. 

I think  it  was  some  time  in  the  early  Fall,  or  late  Summer, 
and  the  night  was  a little  cool,  and  when  she  came  down  .stairs 
with  her  wraps  on,  it  seemed  to  me  she  was  more  charming 
than  ever.  Most  of  the  time  before  we  had  been  almost  alone, 
and  now  we  were  in  the  midst  of  the  merr}^,  happy,  laughing, 
talking  compan}^  and,  while  all  the  time  very  modest,  she  was 
perfectly  self-pos.ses.sed,  and  ladies  and  gentlemen  .seemed  to 
vie  with  each  other  in  complimenting  her — a thing  that  does 
not  often  occur. 

I got  my  hand  and  arm  up  under  her  wraps  and  took  hold 
of  her  arm  and  led  her  out  to  her  carriage.  As  she  got  in  I 
took  her  hand,  and  in  telling  her  good-bye  held  it  to  the  very 
last  second  that  I thought  I could  do  and  be  within  the  limits 
of  the^  code,  and  I had  a kind  of  a feeling,  when  I let  go  her 
hand,  that  she  had  allowed  me  to  hold  it  possibly  as  much  as 
three  seconds  longer  than  was  absolutely  necessary  in  a con- 
ventional handshaking.  I felt  a tremendous  temptation  to 
ask  her  to  let  me  get  into  the  carriage  with  her,  and  let  me  go 


172 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


home  with  her,  and  to  tell  her  that  I would  walk  back  to 
Georgetown  that  night,  but  I was  afraid  and  did  not  ask  her; 
and  when  thd  carriage  rolled  off  I felt  like  the  inspiration  of 
my  whole  life  had  gone;  but,  for  hours,  I lived  in  that  mem- 
ory as  in  a beautiful  dream.  I could  hear  the  rustle  of  that 
silk  dress,  and  the  tick  of  her  pretty  watch  and  the  tone  of 
her  voice,  and  the  least  bit  of  an  occasional  laugh,  and  I could 
recall  just  the  daintiest  of  exquisite  perfumery,  and  feel  her 
hand  in  mine,  in  memory  just  as  I had  done  in  reality. 

When  my  party  was  starting  home  and  they  all  asked  me 
if  I had  had  a nice  time,  though  it  was  dark  and  they  inside, 
and  I still  outside  of  the  carriage,  I could  tell  from  their  voices 
that  they  were  smiling  sardonicall}^  when  they  asked  me; 
and  I acknowledged  to  having  had  a nice  time. 

You  may  think  it  strange,  but  after  thinking  it  over,  next 
day,  I determined  that  I was  going  to  forget  all  about  that 
and  I went  home  and  went  to  work  on  the  farm,  and  thought 
about  nothing  else  for  a month  or  more — not  even  about  that 
girl,  so  far  as  I can  now  recall.  After  the  expiration  of  about 
that  time  I went  again  to  see  my  sister  and  her  family  in 
Georgetown,  and  to  go,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  to  one  of 
the  local  fairs,  which  were,  at  that  time,  very  popular.  It 
was  about  two  miles  from  Georgetown  and  out  in  the  beautiful 
woods  of  Bettie  Herndon’s — then  Mrs.  Barnes— uncle.  There 
was  a temporary  amphitheatre,  and  I went  with  Jesse  and 
Lida  and  two  others,  out  in  a large  carriage.  The  day,  some 
time  in  the  early  part  of  October,  I think,  was  just  as  beauti- 
ful as  you  can  imagine  one,  and  the  grass  and  trees  were  all 
beautifully  green.  When  we  got  there,  there  were  probably 
five  thousand  people  there,  including  many  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful of  Kentucky’s  famou.sly  beautiful  women,  and  the  seats 
were  so  packed  that  many  gentlemen,  who  had  no  ladies  with 
them,  were  left  standing.  My  party  and  I,  a half  dozen,  and 
of  each  sex,  could  only  get  seats  by  climbing,  by  very  slow 
stages,  through  the  people  back  up  to  the  highest  seats;  but 
when  we  got  up  there  we  said  we  had  nicer  seats  than  any- 
body, because  we  could  see  well,  front  and  rear. 

I was  .sitting  there  with  my  party,  looking  down  at  the 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  3149ft. 


173 


people  who  still  thronged  below  looking  up  for  seats,  when  I 
saw  what  I shall  never  forget  while  my  memory  lasts.  There 
was  an  elderly,  nicely  dres.sed  gentleman,  wdio  had  with  him  a 
lady  who  seemed  to  be  his  daughter,  and  the  suppo.sed  daugh- 
ter’s face  was  the  loveliest  face  and  the  most  beautiful  thing 
that  I have  ever  seen.  The  old  gentleman  had  an  expression 
of  perplexity  on  his  face  because  he  could  not  find  a .seat  for 
his  daughter,  seeming  to  be  willing  to  stand  himself  if  he 
could  only  get  a seat  for  her;  and  I w’ould  have  given  him  my 
seat  if  I thought  he  could  have  gotten  as  far  up  as  we  were. 

I was  so  enraptured  with  the  appearance  of  the  young 
woman,  as  she  looked  up,  embaras.sed  and  blushing,  because 
so  many  people  were  looking  at  the  two,  that  I caught  Jesse 
by  the  arm  and,  while  I pointed  to  the  young  woman,  said, 
“Oh,  Jesse,  Jesse,  tell  me,  if  you  know,  who  that  young  girl 
is,  yonder!’’  He  looked  where  I pointed  and,  without  an- 
swering me,  stood  up  and  began  beckoning  to  her  and  waving 
his  handkerchief  to  attract  her  attention.  The  others  of  my 
party  all  joined  him  in  beckoning  to  her,  and  she  caught  their 
signals  and  recognized  them  with  a sweet  bow  and  smile. 
Then  Jesse  turned  to  some  of  the  party  and  said,  “Mr  Charlie 
asked  me  who  that  is;  he  is  the  only  man  in  the  world  like 
him.’’ 

Then  he  turned  to  me  and  said,  “Don’t  you  really  know 
who  that  is?”  and  I said,  “No,  I have  not  the  least  idea,”  and 
Jesse  said,  “Well,  that  is  Miss  Lucy  Peak,  the  girl  you  had 
■such  a nice  time  with  at  Mr.  Ward’s,”  and  I said,  “I  didn’t 
know  her  because  she  was  in  party  dress  then,  and  has  her 
bonnet  and  street  dress  on  now;’  ’ but  before  I was  half  through 
those  words  I was  standing  and  waving  my  handkerchief  too, 
and  beckoning,  and  calling,  through  the  hum  of  thousands  of 
voices  for  her  to  come  up,  and  showing  her  that  we  could  not 
get  down.  Her  father  glanced  at  our  party,  several  of  whom 
he  recognized  and  I could  see  from  the  expression  of  his  face 
that  he  was  gratified  to  have  her  find  such  company,  and  when 
she  was  fairly  on  her  way  up  to  us  he  walked  on.  The 
young  woman  started  up,  several  hundred  people,  having  been 
attracted  by  the  incident,  and  as  she  would  manage  to  climb 


174 


F.EIITND  TTTE  EAK8;  •11498. 


up,  only  one  step  at  a time,  tlironoh  the  densely  packed  peo- 
ple, .she  was  .so  embarras.sed,  and  she  hln.shed  .so,  to  have  at- 
tracted .so  much  attention,  and  yet,  with  all,  was  .so  graceful 
and  dignified,  that  everybody  helped  her  b}’ moving  and  crowd- 
ing together,  and  watched  her  in  sympathy  for  at  lea.st  ten 
minutes  that  it  took  for  her  to  climb  up  to  ns.  When  .she  fin- 
ally got  where  I could  nearly  reach  her  I stretched  out  mj' 
arm  and  hand  as  far  as  I could,  and  .she  gave  me  her  hand, 
and  I held  to  it  until  she  got  up  to  us,  and  though  we  thought 
we  were  crowded  just  as  thick  as  we  could  be  before,  the  others 
and  I arranged  for  her  to  sit  right  by  me,  and  we  sat  just  as 
clo.se  together  as  we  could  sit,  and  I didn’t  feel  the  least  bit 
uncomfortable  from  being  crowded. 

There  was  a back  to  our  seat  to  keep  people  from  falling 
over  behind,  and  when  I kept  in 5^  arm  down  in  its  ordinary 
position  it  did  really  crowd  her  uncomfortably,  but  when  I put 
my  arm  along  the  back  of  that  .seat  behind  her  she  just  .seemed 
to  fit  up  under  my  arm  exacthy  and  there  was  not  a half  inch 
to  .spare,  and  I was  glad  of  it.  She  tried  to  relieve  her  embar- 
rassment, while  a good  many  people  were  looking  at  us,  by 
talking  to  Jesse  and  Lida  and  my  sister,  Jennie,  and  the  others, 
but  I knew  what  all  that  meant,  and  I was  in  a position  where 
I could  get  along  nicely  even  if  .she  didn’t  talk  to  me  any.  , 
Then  Jesse  had  to  tell  her  that  I had  not  known  her,  and  she 
said  she  had  no  right  to  expect  that  I would  know  her,  and  I 
said,  I thought  she  had  a very  good  right  to  expect  it,  and 
that  I would  have  known  her  but  for  the  change  in  her  toilet, 
and  when  we  thus  got  to  talking,  and  she  necessarily  pressed 
up  against  the  breast  of  in}^  clerical  coat,  there  was  put  into 
my  head  and  brain  a memory  that  I now  have,  here  behind 
these  bars,  more  beautiful  than  any  conception  of  heaven  that 
I have  ever  been  able  to  frame,  and  just  her  voice  alone  was 
more  beautiful  tome  than  music  of  whole  legions  of  angels  and 
harps.  I would  rather  .spend  eternity  just  as  I was  then,  than 
as  any  angel  that  ever  struck  a harp,  any  .seraph  that  ever  sang 
hosannah,  any  throned  and  sceptered  monarch  that  ever  lived. 
Her  tasteful  “gown”,  they  call  it  these  days,  would,  by  de- 
grees, get  over  my  knees,  and  when  it  per.sisted  in  doing  so, 


behind  the  BARS;  31498. 


175 


after  she  had  several  times  removed  it,  she  finally  let  it  stay 
there.  Tes.se  and  the  balance  of  the  party  were  so  evidenth’ 
inclined  not  to  give  ns  any  more  room,  that  we  got  .so  close  to- 
gether that  it  seemed  to  me  she  could  almost  feel  and  hear  my 
heart  beat,  for  it  was  beating  pretty  vigorously. 

I determined  then  that  I was  going  to  a.sk  that  woman  to 
become  my  wife  and,  after  we  had  talked  there  for  an  hour  or 
two  and  looked  at  the  fine  hor.ses,  she  proving  herself  a better 
judge  than  I was,  b)'  the  wa}"  the  blue  and  red  ribbons  were 
tied  on  them,  by  the  judges  in  the  ring,  I propo.sed  to  her  to 
take  a walk,  and  we  climbed  down  through  that  crowd  and 
went  out  of  the  amphitheater  and  walked  on  the  pretty  grass, 
and  finally  sat  down  facing  each  other,  in  a prettj'^  place.  I 
did  not  hesitate  to  fea.st  m3’  e3’es  b}’  looking  at  her  face,  as  we 
talked,  and  that  longing  to  kiss  her  in  the  dimpled  corner  of 
her  mouth,  that  I had  felt  at  Mr.  Ward’s,  now  came  back 
stronger  than  ever.  She  took  me  to  dinner  with  her,  at  the 
elegant  spread  of  her  prett}’  and  sweet  little  widowed  sister, 
and  when  we  came  to  part  in  the  evening,  I asked  her  if  I 
might  come  to  .see  her  at  her  home,  and  she  said,  “Yes,”  and 
we  made  an  appointment,  only  two  or  three  days  ahead,  when 
I was  to  come. 

She  was  just  as  lovely  at  her  home  as  she  had  been  when 
I had  before  met  her,  but,  while  just  as  cordial  and  sweet  as 
she  could  be,  evidently  belonged  to  the  touch-me-not  variety 
of  flowers.  We  had  another  divan  just  large  enough  for  us 
two,  but  I would  not  have  proposed  to  take  her  by  the  hand, 
except  in  meeting  and  at  parting,  for  a thousand  dollars.  I 
first  went  to  see  her  every  week,  but  the  weeks  got  to  seem 
so  long  that  I went  twice  a week  sometimes;  and  when  it  got 
so  cool  that  we  had  to  have  a fire  in  the  parlor,  we  would 
draw  up  that  divan  in  front  of  it,  and  it  would  seem  to  me 
that  before  we  could  get  half  through  talking,  and  eating  the 
nice  things  that  she  alwa}’s  brought  in  for  both  of  us,  it  would 
be.  would  be  midnight,  and  sometimes  after  that;  and  some- 
times, when  it  was  quite  cold,  or  dark,  she  would  invite  me  to 
spend  the  night  at  her  home,  and  her  father  would  come  in 
and  in.sist  that  I should  do  so;  but  I do  not  remember  that  I 
ever  did. 


176 


BEPIIND  THE  BARS:  31498. 


What  did  vve  talk  about  ? Well,  I will  give  you  a sample, 
taken  at  random.  One  night  we  were  talking  about  the  phe- 
nomenon known  as  the  “death  watch,’’  It  is  a .strange  tick- 
ing like  a watch,  the  nature  of  which  I do  not  believe,  to  this 
day,  anybody  understands.  A popular  superstition  makes  it 
something  supernatural  that  presages  death.  The  scientists — 
entomologists  especially — say  it  is  a noise  made  by  a small 
insect,  called  anobium  tes.sellatum.  I do  not  believe  the  ex- 
planation of  the  .scientists  is  any  nearer  right  than  the  other. 

One  night,  talking  to  Miss  Tucy,  I said  about  as  follows: 
My  Brother  Barton  died  w'hen  he  was  nineteen  years  old  and 
I about  twelve.  I was  much  devoted  to  him,  and  he  to  me. 
He  died  in  the  .summer,  and  I went  off  into  a remote  room  up- 
.stairs  that  we  called  Major  Nicholson’s  room,  and  lay  on  a bed 
alone  and  cried  until  I became  quiet  and  was  lying  there  per- 
fectl)'  still.  I heard  a watch,  as  I thought,  ticking  on  a win- 
dow sill  near  me,  though  I did  not  see  it.  I was  a little  sur- 
prised to  know  that  a watch  was  there,  but,  absorbed  in  thought 
about  my  dead  brother,  I lay  there,  still,  for  an  hour  or  more. 
When  I got  up  I glanced  at  the  window  sill  expecting  to  see 
the  watch,  but  though  I could  still  hear  the  ticking  I saw  no 
watch.  I was  so  surprised  that  I would  have  brought  some  of 
the  family  to  hear  it  except  that  they  then  were  all  so  distress- 
ed. I heard  that  same  ticking  there  many  times  for  a year,  or 
years,  afterward,  and  though  it  seems  strange,  is  a fact  that  I 
never  took  any  body  to  hear  it.  Years  after  I was  telling  my 
sister,  Mrs.  Grissim,  about  it,  and  she  told  me  of  a strange  ex- 
perience they  had  had  in  the  same  line.  They  had  had  a pretty 
mantle  clock  covered  with  glass  through  which  the  pendulum 
could  be  seen.  For  years  the  clock  had  been  out  of  repair  and 
would  not  run,  but  when  one  of  her  daughters  died,  something 
in  that  clock  began  to  tick,  the  pendulum  being  still,  and  it  kept 
up  that  ticking  so  long  and  so  inexplicably  that  they  associated 
it  with  her  daughters’  death  and  finally  had  the  clock  taken 
and  laid  away  in  the  garret.  When  I got  to  that  point  I stop- 
ped talking  for  a minute,  and  though  we  both  had  on  watches 
we  could  plainly  hear  a watch  ticking  in  the  wall  half  way  across 
the  room  from  us.  We  both  listened  a few  seconds,  then  got 


BEHIND  THE  BAES ; 31498.  177 

up  and  walked  to  where  we  both  heard  it,  and  there,  in  the 
plastered  wall,  we  heard  a watch  ticking  just  as  plainlj^  as  if 
one  was  hanging  there,  when  there  was  certainl}^  none  there, 
and  it  was  precisely  the  same  kind  of  ticking  that  I had  heard 
when  ni}^  brother  died.  I do  not  remember  that  we  ever  heard 
it  again.  I have  heard  the  same  thing  in  several  other  places 
in  my  life.  Of  course,  we  thought  it  was  a strange  coinci- 
dence. Though  I had  never  told  Miss  hucy  that  I loved  her,  I 
thought  she  could  see  that  I did,  and  one  night  at  home  I 
wrote  and  mailed  to  her  a long  letter  in  which  I told  her  the 
whole  story  of  my  love,  and  told  her  that  I was  coming  to  see 
her,  in  a few  days  more  to  ask  her  to  marry  me,  and  that  I 
wanted  her  to  do  her  be.st  thinking,  in  the  mean  time,  and  if 
possible,  answer  me  the  next  time  I saw  her. 

I went  to  see  her  at  the  time,  and  found  her  in  the  parlor 
ready  to  meet  me.  I came  in  and  she  came  toward  the  door 
to  meet  me,  extending  her  hand  to  shake  hands.  I took  it  and 
held  it  and  said  “Miss  Lucy,  before  I sit  down  I want  you  to 
give  me  an  answer  to  the  question  that  I have  told  you  is 
weighing  on  my  heart,”  and  she  looked  at  me  sweetly  and  ear- 
nestly in  the  face  and  said  ‘ ‘Yes” . I wanted  to  ask  her  to  rat- 
ify it  with  a kiss  but  I was  afraid  to  do  so,  and  so  I held  her 
hand  and  thanked  her  with  all  my  soul,  and  then  led  her  b}^ 
the  hand  to  the  divan  and  we  sat  down.  I told  her  that  that  was 
happiness  enough  for  one  night,  and  that  she  must  think  about 
it,  and  we  would  talk  about  when  we  would  be  married  the 
next  time  I came  to  see  her. 

The  next  time  I came  we  discus.sed  that  and  she  had  con- 
cluded that  our-' wedding  day  should  be  -in  next  June,  and  I 
said  it  was  a pretty  month  but  it  was  too  far  off;  that  she  was 
just  twenty-one  years  old  and  I twenty-.seven  and  that  there 
was  no  reason  that  we  should  not  be  married  sooner  than  that, 
and  I said  I thought  a wedding  day  ought  to  be  selected  for 
some  special  reason,  and  I said  the  14th  of  February,  St  Valen- 
tine’s dajq  was  the  da}^  the  birds  mated,  and  that  I wanted 
her  for  my  valentine  on  that  day,  and  we  finally  agreed  on  St. 
Valentine’s  day,  and  the  next  time  I came  to  see  her  I brought 
her  a diamond  ring,  and  it  had  imside  of  it  “C.  C.  M.  to  I,.  G. 
P.,  Feb.  14,  1867.” 


1?8 


THE  BARS;  31408. 


One  night  soon  after  that  when  I was  sajnng  good-l)}'e  to 
her,  to  go  home,  I said  “Miss  Lucy,  it  will  :?oon  be  Christmas, 
and  I want  j'ou  to  give  me  a Christmas  gift,’’  and  she  said 
“Certainly  I will,’’  and  I said  “But  I mean  one  particular 
Christmas  gift,’’  and  she  said,  “Well  it  depends  upon  what  it 
is.’’  Then  I said,  “It  is  what  I want  more  than  anything 
else  and  I think  yoit  might  promise  to  give  it  to  me.’’  She 
said  she  would  not  promise  anything  without  knowing  what  it 
was,  and  I argued  that  she  ought  to  have  enough  faith  in  me 
to  know  that  I would  not  ask  her  to  give  me  any  thing  it  was 
not  right  she  should  give  me,  and  I begged  her,  very  earnestly 
just  to  say,  as  expressing  her  faith  in  me,  that  she  would  give 
me  anything  I asked  of  her  as  a Christmas  gift. 

She  would  not  make  the  promise  but  said  she  would  like 
to  know  what  I wanted.  I told  her  I wanted  her  to  give  me  a 
kiss  for  a Christmas  gift  and  she  said  she  would  do  so.  Then 
I said  “Miss  Lucjy  just  five  days  before  Christmas,  the  20th 
of  December,  I will  be  twenty-.seven  j^ears  old,  wouldn’t  you, 
just  as  soon  give  me  my  kiss  for  a birthday  gift  as  for  a 
Christmas  gift?”  and  .she  .said  “Yes;’’  and  that  was  only  three 
or  four  daj's  before  my  birthday.  I then  thought  a great  deal 
as  to  whether  I would  kiss  her  on  that  dimple  in  the  corner  of 
her  mouth,  or  whether  I should  kiss  her  the  old-fashioned 
way,  but  I finally  concluded  that  the  dimple  idea  was  an 
innovation  that,  becau.se  it  would  be  unexpected,  might  lead 
to  an  embarrassing  complication,  and  when  I went  to  see  her, 
on  the  night  of  my  birth-day  she  was  waiting  for  me  in  the 
parlor,  and  when  she  came  to  meet  me,  as  I came  in  the  parlor 
door,  she  gave  me  both  of  her  hands  and  looked  up  at  me, 
and  I loo.sened  my  left  hand  from  her  right  and,  putting  my 
left  arm  around  her,  drew  her  clo.se  up  to  my  heart  and  ki.s.sed 
her  right  in  the  middle  of  her  pretty  mouth — just  the  one 
single  kiss  that  had  l^een  promised  me,  but  that  one  was  a 
good  one,  and  I got  all  that  was  in  it;  presuming  of  course, 
that  the  hug  was  onL^  a part  of  the  kiss  as  the  sauce  is  a part 
of  the  cake. 

During  this  time  we  attended  some  weddings  and  parties 
tpgether  and  I saw  her  in  regular  evening  dress,  and  at  a church 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 3l498, 


179 


fair  where  we  vvere,  a beautiful  smoking  cap  of  velvet  and  gold 
lace  that  Miss  Lucy  had  made  was  put  up  at  auction  and  I 
bought  it  for  nine  dollars.  My  sister,  Mrs.  Brent,  and  I had 
bought  a nice  home  in  Georgetown!  and  the  room  that  was  pre- 
pared for  Miss  Lucy  and  me  was  exceedingly  beautiful.  It 
was  arranged  that  we  should  be  married  at  night  in  the  church 
and  then  have  a reception  at  the  home  of  myself  and  sister. 
St  Valentine’s  day  came,  and  it  w’as  warm  for  the  sea.sou.  I 
went  to  the  hoii.se  of  Miss  Lucy,  five  miles  in  the  country,  I 
was  dressed  just  as  I had  done  as  a clergyman,  except  that  my 
clerical  vest  was  of  wdiite  silk,  and  of  course,  I wore  wdiite  kid 
gloves  and  my  gentleman  attendants,  among  whom  w^as  Jes.se, 
wdth  Lida  as  his  companion,  were  all  in  white  vests  and  regu- 
lation dress  suits. 

When  I met  Miss  Lucy  in  her  bridal  dre.ss  I was  so  over- 
come by  the  beautiful  apparition  that  I would  no  more  have 
dared  to  do  any  thing  more  -than  bow  and  gently  take  her 
hand  for  a moment  than  I would  have  dared  to  be  familiar  at 
a presentation  at  the  Court  of  St.  James.  There  was  a charm- 
ing profusion  of  bridal  veil  and  orange  blossoms  and  exquisite 
drapery  with  Miss  Lucy  all  wrapped  in  it  like  a fairy,  and  I 
got  in  with  her  and  we  rode  away  to  town,  our  gloved  hands 
clasped  in  each  other.  The  church  was  crow’ded  full  of  people 
and  as  she  and  I walked  down  the  aisle,  she  leaning  on  my  arm, 
escorted  by  our  attendants,  there  was  in  my  heart  an  extasy, 
such  as  no  mere  home  coming  conquering  hero  can  know. 

I didn’t  know  or  forgot  what  the  regulation  was,  though 
as  a minister,  I had  performed  the  marriage  service  for  others, 
so  I thought  if  I made  a mistake  I would  make  a good  one, 
and  when  we  were  pronounced  man  and  wife,  her  maids  of 
honor  raised  her  long  veil  that  fell  to  the  floor  and  I kissed 
her,  only  the  .second  time  that  I had  ever  done  .so.  It  .seemed 
strange  to  hear  people  call  her  Mrs.  Moore,  but  I called  her 
Miss  Lucy  and  have  done  .so  to  this  day. 

At  our  home  we  had  a large  and  happy  compan}^  and 
when  we  had  all  had  a nice  long  talk  and  more  laugh,  and 
Je.s.se,  dear  fellow,  now  dead,  and  dead  as  a bachelor,  claimed 
that  he  had  done  it  all,  and  was  evidently  happy  in  our  happi- 


180 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


ness,  we  all  went  out  to  a splendid  supper,  and  Jesse  fixed  a 
nice  plate  for  me  and  Miss  Lucy,  and  we  ate  off  the  same 
plate  like  we  did  at  Mr.  Ward’s.  There  were  quantities  of 
beautiful  bridal  presents,  and  Miss  Lucy  and  I looked  at 
those.  About  midnight  the  guests  began  to  come  to  bid  us 
good-l)3'e,  and  they  grew  fewer  and  fewer,  and  finally  Miss 
Lucy  disappeared,  and  I was  walking  the  parlor  floor  alone, 
and  somebocl}^  came  and  told  me  that  I could  go  to  our  room. 
It  was  nicely  done  and  was  not  at  all  embarrassing  as  I had 
feared  it  woidd  be.  I went  up  to  our  room  in  which  there 
was  no  light  but  that  of  a beautiful,  cheerful  fire  in  the  grate 
that  gave  a subdued  but  delightfully  soft  glow  to  the  room. 
The  beautiful  bed  had  an  occupant  in  it,  and  her  hair  was 
beautifully  scattered  around  over  the  pillow.  I walked  up  to 
the  bed,  put  my  knee  on  it,  leaned  over,  and  putting  my  hand 
under  Miss  Lucy’s  chin,  I turned  her  face  up  and  kissed  her 
on  that  dimple  in  the  corner  of  her  mouth,  and  still  believing 
in  a God,  though  I was  an  infidel,  I kneeled  at  the  bedside 
and  silentl)^  mingled  my  thanks  and  my  prayers  to  the  one 
unknown  God.  I loved  a cigar  very  much,  though  I was  a 
moderate  smoker.  I knew  it  was  not  good  form  to  smoke  in 
the  presence  of  a lady  and  not  good  sanitation  to  smoke  in  a 
sleeping  room,  and  I told  Miss  Lucy  .so  and  asked  her  if  I 
might  smoke  a cigar,  and  she  said  “Yes.”  I lighted  my 
cigar,  threw  off  my  coat,  and  in  the  delightfull}"  warm  room  I 
lay  down  on  the  top  of  the  cover,  on  the  bed  by  her  side,  and 
we  talked  about  all  the  things  we  had  to  make  us  happy.  I 
smoked  that  cigar  partly  because  I wanted  to  smoke  and  partly 
as  a means  of  relieving  her  of  the  embarrassment  of  the 
ordeal  through  which  I knew  .she  must  be  going,  and  we 
talked,  and  I even  made  her  laugh,  and  I smoked  until  my 
fine  cigar  was  all  gone,  and . 

We  staid  at  home  for  three  days  that  were  all  occupied 
receiving  calls  from  friends,  and  then  we  .started  on  a tour 
through  the  Northern  cities,  stopping  at  Niagara  just  long 
enough  to  see  it  in  its  frozen  glory.  At  Washington  we  went 
to  hear  Fore.st,  McCullough  and  Edwin  Booth  in  “Othello.” 
When  the  jealous  Moor  smothered  “Desdemona”  with  the 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  ; 31498. 


181 


pillow  I was  thinking  of  m3'  darling  that  night  I smoked  the 
cigar,  and  the  tears  came  gushing  to  my  eyes,  but  Miss  Lucy 
laughed  and  said  it  was  better  than  the  usual  farce,  because  it 
was  not  so  intended.  In  New  York  we  saw  “The  Black 
Crook”  at  Niblo’s  Garden,  till  then,  and  probably  until 
“America”  at  the  Chicago  World’s  Fair,  the  most  gorgeous 
scenic  effect  that  had  been  seen  on  the  American  stage.  We 
came  back  to  our  home,  in  Georgetown,  and  I believe  I have 
told  you,  somehow  in  advance,  about  my  being  engaged  in  a 
bank  there,  and  how  while  there  I suggested  the  building  of 
the  Queen  & Crescent  Railway,  now  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful in  the  world,  and  I believe  I told  you  about  my  fire  com- 
pany, and  how  by  a catfish  getting  fastened  in  the  nozzle  of  a 
fire-hose,  the  whole  of  the  old  part  of  the  town  was  burned, 
and  sub-sequently  most  beautifully  built,  much  of  it  out  of 
the  money  of  a fire  company  for  which  I was  agent,  in  con- 
nection with  my  banking  business,  and  my  claim  that,  to  this 
day,  Georgetown  owes  me  a monument  with  a bronze  heroic 
statue  of  me  on  it,  with  a fireman’s  helmet  on  my  head,  a 
fireman’s  trumpet  in  one  hand  and  an  insurance  p..lic3'  in  the 
other,  and  on  the  pedestal  under  my  fireman’s  boot,  “Omnia 
ex  igne.’’ 

When  we  had  been  married  a >'ear  and  a half,  our  first 
child,  a beautiful  little  girl,  was  born,  and  some  time  after 
that  we  went  to  live  on  my  farm  in  the  countr3',  and  in  con- 
nection with  banking  and  railroad  building,  I am  going  to  tell 
you  of  an  incident  of  my  life  to  the  trutli  of  some  of  which 
Col.  R.  H.  Fitzhugh,  of  the  staff  of  Confederate  General  Lee 
— the  Colonel  now  residing  in  Lexington — can  certif>',  as  he 
was  engaged  as  an  engineer  for  the  same  railway  syndicate 
that  engaged  me  as  a .secretar}'.  I will  call  the  leading  char- 
acter in  this  story  Major  Brown,  because  that  was  neither  his 
name  nor  his  military  title.  He  spent  most  of  his  time  in 
New  York  .City,  and  a con.siderable  part  of  it  in  Washington, 
and  then  he  came  and  spent  a considerable  part  of  his  time  in 
Lexington,  his  most  intimate  friends  there  being  Mr.  Joseph 
S.  Woolfolk,  then  and  now  a prominent  citizen  of  Lexington, 
and  Regent  John  B.  Bowman,  of  Kentuck}'  Universit>-,  who 


182 


BEHIND  THE  BARS,  31498. 


then  lived  at  “Ashland,”  the  home  of  Henry  Clay.  Major 
Brown  and  I met,  and  he  seemed  to  take  quite  a fancy  to  me. 
I thought  he  did  this  partly  because  he  liked  me  personally, 
and  partly  because  he  believed  I had  almost  unlimited  influ- 
ence with  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  brilliant  young  women 
I ever  knew,  whom  the  Major  wanted  to  marry.  Brown  was 
homely,  personally,  but  otherwise  he  was  one  of  the  most  in- 
tellectual and  engaging  men  I ever  saw.  He  had  seen  much 
of  the  world,  and  of  the  finest  of  society,  especially  at  Wash- 
ington. He  appeared  to  be  an  accomplished  gentleman  and 
a splendid  talker.  He  was  a devout  Episcopalian;  would  “ask 
the  blessing”  at  the  table,  and  every  night  in  his  room  would 
kneel  at  his  bedside  and  say  his  prayers;  but  there  was  nothing 
about  him  that  appeared  sanctimonious  and  I knew  of  .some 
exceedingly  good  things  that  he  did. 

He  came  to  .see  me  a number  of  times.  He  was  appar- 
entE^  engaged  in  organizing  rich  New  York  syndicates  for 
railroad  building,  and  had  an  immense  fund  of  railway  infor- 
mation. One  pleasant  day  at  my  house  on  the  farm,  after  I 
was  out  of  the  banking  business,  he  asked  me  to  walk  out 
and  sit  under  the  trees  to  have  a business  talk  with  him.  He 
told  me  that  he  was  an  organizer  of  railroad  .syndicates,  and 
that  he  wanted  me  for  his  secretar}',  and  said  he  would  pay 
me  $300  a month  and  all  my  traveling  expen.ses,  and  yet  that 
I would  have  time  to  attend  to  my  farming  affairs.  I accepted 
the  situation,  and  soon  after  he  gave  me  $10,000  and  told  me 
to  buy  him  a pretty  home  with  it  some  where  in  the  country, 
near  Lexington,  but  not  to  be  in  any  hurry  about  it,  but  sim- 
ply avail  my.self  of  any  opportunity  that  offered.  He  would 
take  no  receipt  for  the  money,  and  I deposited  it  to  my  credit 
in  the  banking  house  of  Grin.stead  & Bradley,  in  Lexington. 
Another  day  he  made  me  a pre.sent  of  $25,000,  in  the  beauti- 
fully engraved  stock  certificates  of  a road  that  was  .soon  after- 
ward built.  It  seemed  very  strange  to  me  that  he  would  do 
this,  but  he  .seemed  to  be  a very  rich  man  with  no  relations, 
really  with  no  home,  and  while  he  was  well  received  every 
where  he  went,  he  always  said  that  the  life  of  a man  of  the 
world  was  not  congenial  to  him,  and  he  .seemed  to  regard  my 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  ; 31498, 


183 


own  family  and  those  of  my  sisters  as  the  only  people  in  the 
world  with  whom  he  really  felt  happy. 

We  went  to  New  York  City  together  and  stayed  at  the 
finest  hotels,  he  paying  all  expenses.  He  seemed  to  want  me 
to  talk  with  him,  and  advise  with  him  about  his  plans,  and  he 
seemed  to  want  me  as  a man  in  whom  he  could  confide  any- 
thing. On  Wall  Street,  in  New  York,  he  and  I would  go  into 
almost  any  bank  we  came  to,  and  we  would  be  taken  back 
into  the  private  offices  of  their  managers,  and  he  talked  to 
them  just  as  familiarly  as  he  did  to  me.  Gen.  John  C.  Fre- 
mont and  Gen.  N.  P.  Banks  were  associated  with  him.  Gen. 
Fremont  had  an  engagement  by  telegraph  to  take  breakfast 
with  us  one  morning  at  Delmouico’s,  but  he  failed  to  come, 
and  I never  met  him.  Gen.  Banks  and  I were  riding  together 
one  day  in  a ver}^  handsome  carriage  on  Broadwaj',  when  we 
passed  the  hand.some  office  of  the  Howe  Sewing  Machine 
Company.  I noticed  it  and  started  to  tell  Gen.  Banks  about 
Howe,  as  I had  gotten  the  information  from  an  interesting 
sketch  of  his  life  that  I had  read,  he  being  the  inventor  of  the 
sewing  machine.  Gen.  Bank  .said,  “You  can’t  tell  me  any- 
thing about  Howe;  I worked  at  the  same  bench  with  him,’’ 
and  he  told  me  about  Plowe. 

At  the  finest  hotels  the  Major  knew  the  waiters  by  name, 
and  the}'  knew’  him  and  w’ere  glad  to  show  him  every  courtesy. 
The  Major  said  he  would  pay  me  my  salary  at  the  end  of 
each  month,  and  he  wms  ready  to  do  .so  to  the  day,  but  I had 
so  much  of  his  money  in  my  hands  that  I told  him  to  wait 
until  w'e  Avent  back  to  Kentuck}'.  But  all  the  time,  though  I 
could  .see  nothing  wrong  in  the  man,  and  though  he  .seemed  to 
be  devoted  to  me,  I could  but  feel  that,  back  of  all  this,  there 
w'as  some  .scheme  that  I did  not  see,  because  it  seemed  to  me 
that  I w’as  getting  too  much  for  the  value  of  wdiat  I was  do- 
ing, and  I watched  the  Major  clo.sely.  I never  discoA'ered 
that  he  had  any  designs  against  me,  biit  when  I had  been 
wdth  him  two  mouths  I found  that  he  w'as  using  me  in  a deep 
laid  plot  of  villainy  against  another.  It  was  a scheme  so  in- 
genious that  it  was  hard  for  me  to  realize  that  I had  detected 
him,  but  Avhen  I had  done  so  I told  him  plainly  about  it,  re- 


184 


BEHIND  THE  BAES : 31498, 


turned  to  him  every  cent  of  mone}'  that  I had  ever  gotten 
from  him,  including  my  traveling  expenses,  and  even  refused 
to  have  a single  cent  of  my  salary,  and  I exposed  him,  and 
he  soon  disappeared  from  about  hexington,  and  I have  never 
since  heard  of  him. 

About  the  close  of  the  war  my  old  family  home  was 
burned,  and  a smaller  house  was  built  upon  a part  of  the  old 
foundation.  I had,  on  my  part  of  the  old  farm,  a very  old 
stone  house  that  from  my  admiration  of  Dickens  and  from  its 
appositeness  I called  “Bleak  House,’’  and  I even  had  the 
“Growlery’’  upstairs.  It  was  on  a hill  and  had  no  trees  near 
it,  but  the  thick  stone  walls  made  it  warm  in  winter  and  cool 
in  summer.  Its  desolate  appearance  was  proverbial.  When  I 
had  lo.st  my  position  in  the  Deposit  Bank,  in  Georgetown,  be- 
cau.se  I was  an  infidel,  and  before  I had  gotten  a position  in 
the  bank  in  Lexington — during  which  latter  I conducted  the 
farm  also— I went  with  my  wife  and  baby  to  live  at  “Bleak 
Hou.se,’’  and  conduct  the  farm.  The  baby  was  just  old 
enough  to  begin  to  walk  a few  steps,  and  her  name  was  Eliza 
Campbell,  the  Campbell  being  for  the  family  of  our  di.stin- 
guished  kin.sman,  the  Duke  of  Argyle. 

My  wife  soon  demonstrated  what  good  taste  can  do,  in 
beautifying  even  under  disadvantages.  We  had  pretty  furni- 
ture and  books  and  other  pretty  things  that  had  been  in  our 
house  in  Georgetown,  and  while  “Bleak  House’’  externally 
was  but  little  changed,  my  wife  made  it  so  sweet  a home  in- 
ternally that  it  was  a surpri.se  to  all,  and  our  beautiful  dining 
table  and  its  pretty  accompaniments  held  an  abundance  of 
good  things,  prepared  most  .scientifically  with  reference  to 
pleasure  and  health  by  cooks  descended  from  our  old  home 
cook,  and  trained  in  the  advanced  ideas  of  the  culinary  art  by 
my  wife.  We  were  building  a new  kitchen  to  our  old  house, 
and  though  it  was  about  completed  we  had  not  put  in  the 
windows  and  doors,  because  the  weather  was  so  warm.  There 
were  shavings  lying  around  the  building.  We  had  been  told 
by  the  Negro  servants  for  some  time  past  that  there  was  an 
insane  Negro  woman  in  the  neighborhood,  and  it  was  thought 
that  she  would  come  in  our  open  kitchen  at  night  to  get  some- 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


185 


thing  to  eat.  So  far  from  trying  to  detect  her  we  were  rather 
glad  she  did  so,  and  .saw  no  harm  that  she  was  doing.  One 
night  my  wife  aroused  me,  and  asked  “What  is  that  roaring?’’ 
I knew  the  house  was  on  fire,  and  though  I had  been  an  in- 
surance agent  myself,  I had  no  insurance  on  it.  It  appeared 
that  the  insane  Negro  woman  had  accidentally  set  it  afire. 

Though  I had  quite  a number  of  Negro  men  employed 
whose  quarters  were  in  full  view  of  the  fire,  we  were  all  so 
sound  asleep  that  my  wife  was  the  first  to  awake,  and  the  fire 
was  so  nearly  on  us  that  by  the  time  I could  get  my  wife  and 
baby  down  stairs  and  a .safe  distance  from  the  house  in  which 
there  was  a large  can  of  powder  that  I had  placed  near  the 
roof,  so  that  its  danger  would  be  comparatively  small'  in  case 
of  fire,  and  then  go  again  back  to  our  bed  room  the  flames 
were  so  rolling  through  the  windows  that  I could  not  even  get 
to  our  pretty  watches  that  were  lying  on  the  dressing  .stand, 
and  they  were  burned.  The  Negro  hands,  men  and  women, 
were  working  faithfully.  We  carried  out  my  wife’s  elegant, 
heavy  piano,  I lifting  my  share.  All  the  time  I was  watching 
when  the  flames  would  get  to  that  can  of  powder,  and  calcu- 
lated closely  how  long  before  it  would  explode,  then  told  the 
hands  and  we  all  ran  until  it  exploded,  and  during  the  time 
we  were  waiting  for  that  explosion  there  were  being  burned 
things  the  loss  of  which  we  feel  to  this  day.  My  wife  was 
sitting  on  a stile  crying  like  her  heart  would  break,  and  little 
Lida  Campbell,  who.se' death  when  she  was  eleven  years  old, 
put  the  first  gray  hairs  in  my  head,  was  laughing  and  clap- 
ping her  chubby  little  hands  in  glee  as  she  enjoyed  looking  at 
the  bright  fire.  I was  strong  and  well  and  felt  that  life  was 
before  us,  and  I was  not  much  distressed.  But  a few  days 
after  that  I found  that  I had  lost  $3,000  by  a .security  debt, 
and  soon  after  that  I lo.st  $200  by  going  security  for  a 
preacher,  and  soon  after  that  a smaller  amount  as  security  for 
another  man. 

Fifteen  years  afterward  the  $3,000  was  paid  back  to  me. 
After  I lost  my  position  in  the  bank  in  Lexington,  because  I 
talked  against  horse  lacing,  the  bank  being  specially  patron- 
ized by  race  horse  men,  I furnished  the  money  to  build  a flour 


186 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


mill  in  Lexington,  in  which  I was  on  equal  partner.  I lost 
about  $1,500  the  first  }'ear  and  .sold  my  interest  to  my  partner. 
I began  to  think  I was  not  a successful  business  man,  and  I 
paid  every  cent  in  the  world  that  I owed,  then  deeded  all  my 
property  to  my  wife  and  children,  and  published  in  Lexington 
newspapers  what  I had  done,  so  that  nobody  might  credit  me 
ignorantly.  It  made  no  difference  in  my  financial  standing, 
and  I have  always  had  in  any  bank  or  other  business  house  in 
Lexington  more  credit  than  I wanted  to  use,  and  have  to  this 
day.  My  wife  and  I had  been  engaged  to  be  married  four 
months,  and  it  was  within  two  months  of  our  wedding  before 
I ever  had  any  idea  wdiatever  regarding  her  fortune.  I did 
not  know  that  she  was  worth  a dollar  in  the  world,  and  never 
would  have  known  until  after  we  were  married  had  not  a 
friend  of  ours  volunteered  to  tell  me  that  she  was  worth  ju.st 
about  as  much  as  I was,  which  proved  to  be  true.  I gave  my 
property  to  my  wife  and  children,  though  my  wife  begged  me 
not  to  do  so,  but  I have  always  been  proud  that  I did  so,  and 
think  that  the  majority  of  men  of  means  would  be  happier, 
if,  in  all  cases  where  they  can,  they  would  put  their  families 
above  want,  even  if  it  restricts  the  men  financially  in  busine.ss 
operations  and  in  the  indulgence  of  themselves.  There  is 
nothing  of  which  I am  prouder  than  the  fact  that  the  proper 
court  records,  and  facts  known  to  m3’  neighbors,  combine  to 
show  that  purel}^  for  the  love  of  my  wife  and  children,  and 
not  to  avoid  the  payment  of  an}’  debt,  and  when  my  wife  did 
not  want  me  to  do  so,  I gave  everything  that  I had  to  my 
wife  and  childien  and  .so  arranged  that  they  could  not  di.spo.se 
of  the  principal  until  the  youngest  child  was  of  age.  I may 
be  a convict  charged  with  having  advocated  “free  love’’  in  my 
newspaper,  but  the  court  records  will  always  .show  that  I made 
it  one  of  the  first  purposes  of  my  married  life  to  provide  for 
my  wife  and  children,  and  when  we  are  both  now  gray-headed, 
and  she  writes  me  in  prison  and  says,  “Under  the  circum- 
stances I am  proud  to  be  a convict’s  wife,’’  and  that  utterance 
of  hers  is  applauded  by  good  men  and  good  women  all  over 
America,  and  even  across  the  ocean,  I am  simply  certain  that 
1 have  been  honored,  and  my  enemies  dishonored  by  my  being- 
put  in  this  prison. 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


187 


I do  not  mean  it  as  an  invidious  comparison,  but  simply 
as  a truth,  the  benefit  of  which  I want  other  young  people  to 
haae.  Certainly,  I have  said  enough  of  the  attractions  of 
Bessie  Campbell  to  arouse,  to  this  day,  the  jealous}^  of  my 
dear  wife  were  she  not  a superior  woman,  but  I can  see  now 
that  the  difference  between  the  two  women  is  the  difference 
between  “Dora”  and  “Agnes,”  in  “David  Copperfield.”  Had 
I married  Dessie  Campbell  my  only  distinction  would  have 
been  that  I was  Alexander  Campbell’s  son-in-law.  As  it  is 
now,  I would  not  give  my  own  distinction  as  I see  it  realized 
even  now,  for  that  of  all  the  priests  and  preachers  that  ever 
lived,  and  while  I have  the  kindest  recollections  of  Alexander 
Campbell  and  of  all  his  family,  I would  rather  be  a dog  and 
drag  a clog  all  my  life,  than  to  be  chained  for  life  to  the  clog 
of  superstition  that  gave  Alexander  Campbell  all  of  his  fame. 
Take  my  mere  bodily  liberty  if  you  will,  and  give  me  hand- 
cuffs and  prison  bars,  but  give  me  the  mental  liberty  that 
makes  me  proud  that  I am  of  sufficient  importance  to  have 
been  honored  with  the  anathemas  of  the  church,  while  every 
heart-beat  of  my  Lucy  is  in  sjmipathy  with  mine. 

“.Tohn  Anderson,  my  ,Jo  John, 

We’ve  climbed  the  liills  togither 
And  manj^  are  the  cantie  days 
We’ve  spent  with  one  anither. 

Now  we  maun  totter  down,  John  ; 

But  hand  in  hand  we’ll  go. 

And  sleep  togither  in  the  grave, 

John  Anderson,  my  .To.” 

We  built  a pretty  home  in  Lexington,  and  a plain,  but 
sweet  one,  in  the  country,  on  the  farm,  now  all  embowered  in 
trees,  the  latter  being  our  home  at  the  time  I was  .sent  here, 
and  during  the  last  twenty-five  of  the  thirty-one  years  that 
we  have  been  married  we  have  lived  a part  of  the  time  in 
Lexington,  and  most  of  the  time  in  the  country,  and  I have 
been  engaged  in  farming  all  the  time  and  in  journalism  irearly 
all  that  time.  Like  “Helen’s  Babies,”  I wanted  to  “see  the 
wheels  go  ’round,”  and  for  about  two  3'ears  owned  another 
flour  mill  and  came  out  about  even  in  conducting  it.  My  wife 
and  children  once  went  to  California  and  lived  there  for  six 


188 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


months,  our  purpose  being  to  go  there  and  live,  if  we  liked  it 
more  than  Kentucky;  but  they  came  back  preferring  Ken- 
tucky, and  they  would  all  rather  live  in  the  country  than  in 
the  city.  Byron  speaks  of  the  common  ambition  to  see  our 
names  in  print,  and  it  is  a proverb  among  printers  that  a man 
who  once  gets  printer’s  ink  on  his  fingers  never  gets  it  off. 

When  I was  educated  the  common  sentiment  about  edu- 
cation was  that  it  was  simply  an  accomplishment  essential  to 
the  highest  society.  Now,  education  is  nearly  always  with 
regard  to  its  business  value.  The  latter  is  more  sensible. 
Having  no  special  calling  in  view — though  I subsequently 
went  into  the  ministry — my  education  was  general,  rather 
than  special,  and  seemed  better  adapted  to  journalism  than 
anything  else.  My  only  other  literary  labor  has  been  a theo- 
logical book,  “The  Rational  View,’’  written  in  defence  of  the 
modern  rationalistic  view  of  Christianity.  My  literary  life 
seemed  to  come  to  me  accidentally.  One  day,  before  I had 
finished  my  college  course,  I was  walking  through  a large  and 
beautiful  woodland  at  my  old  home,  and  saw  many  young 
crows  in  the  trees  that  were  just  getting  old  enough  to  fly. 
I believed  that  our  crows  were  so  nearly  identical  with  the 
English  rooks  that  the  young  ones  would  l)e  good  to  eat,  and 
I wrote  an  article  for  the  Lexington  “Observer  & Reporter’’ 
— then  the  most  important  paper  in  the  Bluegrass  Region,  and 
when  the  metropolitan  dailies  were  scarcely  known  among  the 
country  people — headed  “The  Edibility  of  Crows.’’  I meant 
it,  in  hard  earnest,  as  a means  of  getting  rid  of  crows.  It 
was  given  prominence  in  that  paper,  and  that  was  the  first 
writing  I ever  did  for  print.  Some  parties  acted  upon  my 
suggestion  and  tried  eating  young  crows.  • They  sub.sequently 
spoke  of  me  in  bitter  terms.  “Eating  crow’’  was  then,  as 
now,  a political  slang,  and  some  persons  discovered  a deep- 
laid  political  significance  in  what  I had  said,  and  I think  that 
was  the  view  of  it  taken  by  Editor  Wickliffe,  of  the  O.  & R. 
Dean  Swift  wrote  “Gulliver’s  Travels’’  simply  as  an  amusing 
story,  and  when  many  political  wi.seacres  announced  the  deep- 
laid  political  significance  of  the  .story.  Swift  simply  “sawed 
W'ood  and  said  nothing.’’  My  article  proving  utterly  abortive 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498, 


189 


in  the  line  for  which  it  was  intended,  I left  its  political  inter- 
pretation to  those  who  saw  more  in  the  piece  than  I had  ever 
done.  It  gave  me  some  political  prestige,  and  I was  sent  as  a 
delegate  to  the  Presidential  ratification  convention,  at  Rouis- 
ville,  of  Bell  and  Everett,  and  in  the  theater  room  in  which 
the  convention  was  held,  I was  in  an  opera  box  with  Gen. 
Wm.  Pre.ston,  also  a delegate,  afterward  American  Minister 
to  Spain,  and  then  a distinguished  general  in  the  Confederate 
army.  I did  not  know  anything  about  politics  and  cared  less. 
Edward  Everett  I knew  to  be  one  of  the  most  scholarly  men 
in  America,  but  I have  never  known  who  Bell  was  to  this  da5^ 
I believed  it  was  a case  where  the  tail  could  wag  the  dog.  A 
cartoon  that  I think  was  one  of  Na.st’s  earliest,  represented  a 
race  track  in  which  my  man  was  running  with  a big  dinner 
bell  on  his  head,  and  so  far  behind  that  it  was  evident  the 
distance  flag  w'ould  drop  on  him,  while  Rineoln  was  away 
ahead  of  all  the  entries.  If  I had  managed  fairlj^  well  the 
political  boost  that  my  crow  piece  gave  me,  I would  have  gone 
to  Congress  instead  of  to  the  penitentiary. 

The  next  piece  that  I ever  wrote  for  an}"  newspaper  was 
two  or  three  columns  for  the  Wheeling  (Va. , now  W.  Va.,) 
Intelligencer.  It  was  written  when  I was  at  college,  and  was 
a report  of  a somewhat  dramatic  episode  in  which  I had  par- 
ticipated as  a member  of  a Sheriff’s  posse,  in  Pittsburg,  Pa. 
The  next  piece  that  I can  remember  ever  to  have  written  was 
a pretty  long  article  in  the  Rexington  Daily  Press,  headed  “A 
Ray  Sermon  to  Preachers.”  The  first  intimation  I ever  got 
as  to  how  it  had  been  received  was  from  Billy  Breckinridge, 
then  just  beginning  his  brilliant  career  as  one  of  the  most 
famous  of  American  orators.  We  met  on  the  street  in  Rex- 
ington  early  in  the  morning  of  the  day  the  piece  appeared, 
and  Bill}",  in  shaking  hands  with  me,  quoted  to  me,  from 
Byron,  tho.se  lines  about  having  awaked  that  morning  to  find 
my.self  famous.  I did  not  know  to  what  he  alluded  until  he 
explained  to  me,  that  early  as  it  was  he  had  read  my  article 
in  the  Daily  Press.  It  was  a seven  days  wonder,  and  some 
parties  carried  copies  of  it  with  them  for  weeks  afterward  and 
read  it  to  groups  of  people.  And  yet  had  it  been  written  at 


19(J  BEHIND  THE  BANS;  31498. 

tlii.s  day,  by  me  or  l^y  aii3’bocl3'  else,  it  probably  would  not 
have  created  much  if  au3y  interest.  It  was  not  an  attack  up- 
on religion,  but  was  a covert  attack  upon  the  church,  based 
upon  a real  experience  that  I had  had  at  the  Episcopal  church. 
Captain  Jes.se  Woodruff,  a soldier  of  the  Mexican  war,  .still 
living  in  Lexington,  was,  at  that  time,  emplo3"ed  as  managing 
editor  of  the  Press.  He  was  regarded  as  the  most  competent 
political  editor  in  Lexington,  but  for  allowing  1113^  article  to 
appear  in  the  Press,  he  was  put  out  of  his  position  on  the 
paper,  and  has  never  had  anything  to  do  with  journalism 
since.  He  was  for  main'  3'ears  1113'  personal  friend  and  literar3^ 
admirer,  but  finally  turned  against  me  and  .so  remains. 

Though  Henr3'  T.  Duncan,  editor  and  proprietor  of  the 
Press,  discharged  Capt.  Woodruff,  as  I have  said,  such  was 
the  reputation  as  a writer  that  “The  La3'  Sermon’’  gave  me 
that  Col.  Duncan  put  me  on  the  staff  of  his  paper  at  a salary 
of  $75  a month,  and  I held  that  position  until  he  had  to  ap- 
pease the  religious  public  by  discharging  me  for  an  article 
that  was  not  more  than  three  “sticks’’  long  that  I wrote 
against  Talmage.  I then  took  a position  on  the  Daily  Tran- 
.script,  and  as  a combination  of  editor  and  reporter  I spent 
four  or  five  years  on  those  two  papers.  Both  of  them  were 
continual^'  afraid  of  the  explo.sive  things  that  I was,  at  any 
time,  liable  to  say — as  they  said;  though  they  all  read  alike  to 
me;  some  of  them  looking  more  startling  in  type  than  they 
did  in  my  lead  pencil  copy.  But  because  I carried  a certain 
clientele  with  me,  when  I was  put  off  of  one  paper  and  went 
to  the  other,  neither  of  the  rival  editors  was  willing  that  the 
other  should  have  me. 

The  same  people  were  alternately  my  friends  and  my  en- 
emies. Mrs.  Maria  Dudley,  one  of  the  most  prominent  ladies 
in  Lexington,  cut  from  the  columns  of  one  of  those  papers, 
and  pasted  in  her  .scrap  book  of  humorous  literature, 
and  read  to  many,  an  article  that  I had  written  called  “The 
Lightning  Rod  Man.’’  Like  ever3'thing  I wrote  it  was  sim- 
ply a recitation  of  facts  in  my  own  experience.  And  yet  the 
last  time  I was  put  off  the  staff  of  the  Tanscript  was  because 
Mrs.  Dudley  wrote  its  editor  a note  telling  him  to  di.scontinue 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


191 


tlie  paper  to  her  if  I was  to  remain  on  its  .staff.  The  chief 
feature  in  my  writing  was  its  realism  and  it  was  reali.stic,  be- 
cause, then  as  now,  I could  write  only  what  realh^  occurred. 
I once  wrote  a piece  called  “Looking  for  the  Pantry  Key.’’ 
Its  republication  was  repeatedly  requested  by  ladies,  and  I 
was  given  the  credit  of  having  drawn  on  nn'  imagination  for 
an  intere.sting  combination  of  fun,  pathos  and  marital  devo- 
tion, and  }’et  it  was  an  incident  all  the  main  facts  of  which 
had  occurred  onl}'  the  da}"  before  in  my  own  famil}’ — barring 
only  a little  that  was  evidently  intended  to  be  understood  as 
extravaganza  and  hyperbole. 

One  day  after  I had  been  engaged  in  journalism  until  I 
was  forty  years  old,  and  was  engaged  as  editor  of  the  Tran- 
.script,  I was  sitting  behind  the  counter  in  the  office  of  that 
paper,  when  a man  came  in  and  walked  up  to  the  counter, 
and  pre.sented  his  card,  showing  that  his  name  was  Strahan, 
and  that  he  represented  the  roasted  coffee  house  of  E.  Lever- 
ing & Co.,  at  Baltimore.  I have  since  voted  for  Jo.shua  Lev- 
ering, of  that  firm,  for  President  of  the  United  States,  on  the 
Prohibition  ticket.  Strahan  was  a gentlemanly  fellow  and 
wanted  some  advertising  done  in  the  Transcript.  I handed 
him  over  to  the  man  who  had  charge  of  the  advertising  de- 
partment, but  never  having  heard  of  such  a business  as  roast- 
ing coffee  on  so  big  a .scale,  and  knowing  nothing  about  it  ex- 
cept as  done  by  cooks  in  private  houses,  I asked  him  about  it, 
and  when  he  had  arranged  about  his  advertising,  he  and  I got 
into  conversation. 

It  seemed  that  he  was  being  paid  $100.00  a month,  and 
all  expenses  paid,  for  traveling  anj-where  in  the  United  States 
that  he  wanted  to  go,  and  only  had  to  carry  in  his  pocket  a 
little  miniature  sample  package  of  the  roasted  coft'ee  that  his 
house  had  to  sell.  I told  him  that  I thought  he  had  one  of 
the  nice.st  jobs  of  any  man  I had  ever  seen — that  he  had  noth- 
ing to  do  but  travel  on  railroads  and  steamboats  and  live  at 
the  best  hotels,  and  talk  and  act  the  gentleman,  and  have  all 
expenses  paid,  and  a .fine  salarj’  be.side.  He  said  to  me, 
“Would  you  like  to  have  a job  like  it?’’  I said,  “Yes;  I have 
been  in  the  newspaper  business  until  I would  like  to  have  a 


192 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  ; 31498. 


change,  but  I don’t  like  coffee,  and  don’t  know  one  kind  from 
another.”  He  .said  I could  soon  learn  that  and  that  they 
would  give  me  a job,  paying  all  my  traveling  expenses  and 
beginning  on  $35  a month,  and  pay  me  more  according  to  my 
success.  I took  the  job  and  they  .soon  raised  m}^  salar)^  to 
^50  a month  and  then  to  $75  a month  and  all  expen.ses  paid, 
and  I had  never  gotten  but  $75  a month  as  a journalist. 

I could  go  wherever  I wanted  to  and  draw  on  my  house 
for  money  from  any  place,  and  did  so.  I soon  quit  making 
out  my  expense  accounts  for  they  were  about  the  same  all  the 
time,  and  I could  be  selling  coffee  while  I was  doing  that.  I 
was  a,shamed  to  commence  drumming — I called  myself  a 
‘‘commercial  evangeli.st” — in  my  own  town,  Lexington,  .so  I 
got  aboard  a Q.  C.  train  and  stopped  at  Nicholasville, 
twelve  miles  from  Lexington,  to  try  my  luck  as  a sale.sman. 
I went  to  every  grocery  in  the  town  and  did  not  sell  a single 
pound.  I found  that  there  was  a great  firm  of  coffee  roasters 
named  Arbuckle,  and  they  seemed  to  have  a monopoly  of  the 
business,  becau.se  they  were  the  pioneers  in  that  department 
and  had  lots  of  monejq  and  that  while  their  coffee  was  well 
known  and  .sold  itself,  the  other  coffee  firms  had  to  have  their 
agents.  I argued  the  question  as  best  I could — which  was 
bad  enough — with  the  Nicholasville  grocers,  but  they  all  said 
that  they  were  supplied  with  Arbuckle’ s roasted  coffee,  and 
that  everybody  knew  about  that,  and  when  they  wanted  to 
sell  any  other  brand  they  had  to  stop  and  explain  about  it, 
and  they  did  not  like  to  do  that;  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
their  argument  was  good  and  that  there  was  not  anything  I 
could  .say  to  an.swer  it. 

I left  Nicholasville  feeling  greatly  di.scouraged,  and  with 
a sort  of  impression  that  I had  compromised  my  dignity,  and 
that  I was  wasting  the  mone}"  of  the  Leverings  and  doing  no 
good.  I looked  at  my  railway  map  and  said  I was  going  clear 
out  of  Kentuckj"  before  I tried  selling  any  more  coffee.  I 
saw  on  the  map  a place  named  Greenwood,  soon  after  the  Q. 
& C.  got  into  Tenne.ssee,  and  I determined  to  stop  there, 
principally  because  the  place  had  a pretty  name.  If  the  place 
had  been  named  Smithtown  or  Jone.sburg  I never  would  have 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


193 

stopped  there,  but  I thought  that  aii3'body  who  would  name 
their  town  Greenwood  would  not  be  green — would  have  a nice 
town  and  I bought  m\"  ticket  for  that  place.  When  I got 
there  I found  the  town  con.sisted  of  one  hou.se  and  one  in- 
habitant. The  house  was  a combination  of  grocer}',  post- 
office  and  railway  station.  But  I noticed  that  it  was  a pretty 
big  house  and  had  a large  supply  of  groceries  in  it,  and  he 
explained  to  me  that  the  house  belonged  to  a large  coal  com- 
pany and  that  he  bought  supplies  for  them.  I never  collected 
any  money,  simply  sent  the  orders  to  the  Baltimore  house, 
and  though  I afterward  sold  to  almost  anybody  that  wanted 
to  bu}’  my  coffee,  I made  so  few  bad  debts  that  it  surprised 
the  house  and  me,  too. 

I saw  that  I would  have  to  wait  at  Greenwood  several 
hours  before  I could  get  another  train  going  south,  so  I con- 
cluded to  try  a new  policy  on  that  man.  I saw  he  was  there 
alone  and  that  he  wanted  to  talk,  and  it  was  a pleasant  place, 
and  we  got  some  chairs  and  sat  out  in  the  shade  and  talked. 
About  a quarter  of  an  hour  before  train  time  I looked  at  my 
watch  and  said  I must  be  fixing  to  go,  and  remarked,  in  a 
kind  of  an  off-hand  manner,  that  I was  selling  Levering’s 
roasted  coffee — by  the  way,  the  Leverings  ought  to  give  me  a, 
hundred  dollars  for  this  advertisement — and  I asked  him  if  he 
wanted  anything  in  that  line,  with  the  air  of  a man  who  was 
tired  of  selling  millions  of  cases  of  coffee  and  who  didn’t  or- 
dinarily bother  wfith  a small  place  like  that.  The  man  said, 
“Yes;  you  may  send  me  seven  cases.’  ’ There  were  a hundred 
pounds  in  each  case,  and  I stuck  down  in  my  order  book  my 
first  order  for  coffee — 700  pounds — taking  pains  not  to  let  him 
see  that  it  was  my  first  order,  and  I talked  on  as  I wrote  it, 
as  if  I had  taken  so  many  coffee  orders  that  I did  not  want  to 
be  bothered  with  them  while  I was  talking.  But  I got  aboard 
that  train  happier  than  Dewey  was  when  he  gave  the  devil  his 
Dewey  at  Manila,  and  knocked  1 out  of  what  used  to  be 
spelled  Manilla. 

I found  out  that  the  way  to  sell  coffee,  and  to  do  a good 
many  other  things,  is  not  to  let  the  other  fellow  know  that 
you  want  to  do  it  very  much.  It  is  the  best  way  to  .sell  news- 


194 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


papers  and  books,  also.  I started  out  to  travel  all  over  the 
United  States  from  ocean  to  ocean,  but  I found  that  this  was 
quite  a large  country,  and  I never  traveled  further  than  Ken- 
tucky, West  Virginia,  Ohio,  Indiana,  Illinois,  Teune.ssee,  Ala- 
bama and  Georgia,  and  then  I was  tired  of  making  new 
acquaintances. 

One  day  I went  to  Henderson,  Ky,  The  weather  was  so 
hot  that  hardly  anybody  was  to  be  seen  on  the  streets.  I had 
never  been  there  before,  and  I knew  nobody  in  the  town,  and 
nobody  knew  me,  so  far  as  I knew.  I started  out  to  sell  cof- 
fee. I came  to  a large,  fine  looking  grocery,  and  had  put  one 
foot  on  the  door  sill  to  go  in  when  I .saw  a man  in  the  extreme 
back  part  of  the  house,  throw  up  his  hands  in  a frantic  man- 
ner. He  had  pulled  off  his  coat,  vest,  cravat  and  collar,  and 
unbuttoned  his  shirt  bosom,  and  leaning  in  his  chair  back 
against  an  open  window  was  using  a large  palm  leaf  fan  with 
great  vigor.  There  was  nobody  else  in  the  house.  If  there 
was  anything  about  me  to  indicate  that  I was  a drummer  I 
did  not  know  it.  But  that  man  with  his  hand  raised  as  if  to 
surrender,  and  in  a tone  of  appeal,  called  to  me  and  said, 
“For  God’s  sake.  Mister,  don’t  come  in!  Just  .send  me  some 
of  it,  but  don’t  come  in!  !’’  He  could  not  have  known  what 
I had  to  sell,  but  he  was  willing  to  buy  it  at  random,  and 
wdthout  knowing  the  price,  rather  than  to  have  to  tackle  a 
drummer  on  that  hot  day.  I never  said  a word  to  him.  His 
house  seemed  to  be  full  of  goods  except  a corner  near  the 
front  door  that  I estimated  would  hold  about  thirty  cases  of 
coffee — 3,000  pounds.  I stepped  back  out  of  the  door  and 
looked  up  at  the  sign  to  see  what  the  firm  name  was,  and  I 
sent  that  man  enough  roasted  coffee  to  fill  that  corner;  as  large 
an  order  as  I ever  sold  to  the  retail  trade. 

A few  months  afterward  I came  through  that  town  again 
and  went  into  that  house,  and  asked  the  man  if  he  wanted 
any  of  Levering’ s coffee.  He  looked  at  the  few  cases  he  had 
left  and  gave  me  another  order,  and  neither  of  us  alluded  to 
the  peculiar  circumstances  of  the  first  sale.  A few  days  after 
that  I stopped  at  a small  town  in  Tennessee.  The  weather 
was  still  hot.  The  station  was  a quarter  of  a mile  from  the 


BEHIND  THE  BADS;  31458. 


195 


town,  and  there  was  nobod}-  at  the  station  when  I got  there 
l)ut  the  telegraph  operator,  and  I was  the  onl)'  pas.senger  who 
got  off  there.  Nobody  in  the  town  knew  me.  The  operator 
was  listening  to  the  tick  of  his  instrument  and  turned  to  me 
and  said,  “Garfield  is  assassinated.’’  He  knew  no  other  par- 
ticulars. I saw  that  I was  the  only  man  to  whom  he  had  told 
the  awful  news.  I walked  alone  down  to  the  town  expecting 
to  tell  the  startling  news.  There  were  no  telephones  then. 
As  soon  as  I got  to  the  town,  and  before  I had  spoken  to  any 
one,  I heard  a man  say,  “Charley  Moore  says  Garfield  is 
killed.’’  I was  surprised,  and  then  heard  several  others  tell 
the  sad  news  as  having  been  brought  by  “Charley  Moore,’’  I 
walked  up  to  one  of  these  men  and  said  I had  been  the  first 
man  to  hear  the  news  at  the  station,  but  that  I had  said  noth- 
ing about  it  to  anybodjr  and  was  curious  to  know  how  they 
knew  my  name,  and  how  they  knew  about  my  having  heard 
the  news.  The  man  could  not  understand  my  perplexity  un- 
til I told  him  all  the  facts,  and  he  .said  that  another  man 
named  Charley  Moore  had  just  come  to  town  on  horseback, 
and  brought  the  news  of  the  Garfield  killing  from  a station 
on  another  railroad. 

I traveled  for  the  Lev^erings  a year  and  a half,  and  then 
gave  it  up  because  I could  not  stand  the  separation  from  my 
farail3u  During  all  the  time  that  I was  traveling  for  them  I 
amused  myself  writing  for  the  newspapers,  and  the  point  of 
my  writings  was  to  get  in  my  advertisement  of  Levering’ s 
coffee,  the  papers  printing  the  advertisements  for  the  benefit 
of  the  other  features  of  my  communications.  They  were 
written  in  prose  and  in  poetry,  and,  in  allusion  to  my  peripa- 
tetic life,  my  noni  de  plume  was  “Perry  P.  Tetic.”  My  wife 
has  saved  clippings  from  my  newspaper  articles  ever  since  we 
were  married,  and  I want  her  to  finish  this  chapter  by  fur- 
nishing to  the  printers  of  this  book  three  or  four  specimens  of 
ray  Levering  coffee  poetry.  Mr.  Strahan  took  the  newspaper 
extract  which  he  thought  was  the  best  of  all  my  coffee  poetrj^ 
to  Chicago,  and  had  it  printed  in  large  quantities  for  advertis- 
ing purposes,  and  I know  that  my  wife  has  no  copy  of  that. 
I will  give  you  here  the  facts  about  one  newspaper  article  that 
I wrote  as  a part  of  my  experience  as  a coffee  drummer. 


196 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


In  traveling  I did  what  was  common  among  drummers — 
arranged  my  bu.siness  so  that  I would  lay  over  Sunda}'  at 
.some  point  of  interest,  and  at  the  time  of  which  I speak  I 
had  arranged  to  stay  over  Sunda3"  at  Crab  Orchard  Springs, 
in  Kentucky,  and,  with  this  intention,  I got  to  Standford, 
Kentucky,  the  Saturday  evening  before,  to  put  in  a part  of 
the  evening  there  selling  coffee,  and  then  go  out  to  see  the 
“pink  cottage,”  two  miles  in  the  country  from  Standford,  and 
report  it  for  the  newspapers  and  then  go  on  to  Crab  Orchard 
Springs  that  night.  Rev.  George  O.  Barnes  was  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  preachers  that  ever  appeared  in  America. 
He  was  then — which  was  about  twenty  j^ears  ago — about,  fifty 
years  old.  He  was  a graduate  of  Center  College,  at  Danville, 
Kentucky,  and  was  ordained  to  the  Presbyterian  ministry. 
He  was  exceedingly  gentle  and  affable  in  his  manners,  and 
had  the  art  of  pulpit  oratory  to  a degree  that  I have  rarely 
seen  excelled,  and  his  influence  upon  his  audiences,  that  em- 
braced the  finest  people  of  Kentucky,  by  thousands  and  thou- 
sands, was  far  more  remarkable  than  that  of  any  other  man  I 
have  ever  seen  and  heard  in  the  pulpit,  or  on  the  stand,  for 
the  larger  part  of  his  preaching  was  done  in  court  houses  and 
opera  houses  and  theaters.  Though  he  never  knew  me  until 
I was  an  infidel,  and  he  was  a most  radical  believer  in  Chris- 
tianity, he  and  I were  always  friends,  always  talked  freely 
when  we  met  and  he  was  always  just  as  kind  to  me  as  he 
could  be,  though  I rasped  him  pretty  roughly  through  the 
newspapers  for  things  that  he  said  and  did  that  I thought 
were  glaringly  irrational,  if  not  wwse;  but  I always,  at  the 
same  time,  had  kind  things  to  say  for  him,  as  I do  now.  He 
is  still  living  and  preaching,  but  fame  and  influence  have  so 
waned  in  his  old  age  that  he  is  left  almost  destitute,  and  I 
hope  that  what  I am  here  saying  may  cause  somebodj’  to  help 
him  in  his  old  days. 

That  his  errors  are  great  is  certain,  but  I have  always 
hoped  that  they  were  of  the  head  rather  than  of  the  heart. 
While  it  is  true  that  in  his  palmy  days  he  lived  in  luxury,  and 
was  feted  and  praised  as  is  true  of  all  very  popular  preachers, 
I never  heard  an  intimation  of  an}^  kind  of  immorality  against 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  ; 31498. 


197 


him.  He  had  spent  the  first  3^ears  of  his  life  as  a missionary 
in  India.  All  through  his  remarkable  career  in  Kentucky  his 
daughter,  Miss  Marie,  traveled  with  him,  their  only  church 
music  being  her  voice  and  a little  organ  that  they  carried  with 
them  all  the  time.  The  music  was  beautiful  and  so  new  and 
catchy  that  the  people  learned  it  as  they  do  the  most  popular 
secular  songs.  Miss  Marie  was  quite  pretty,  and  her  manners 
sweet  all  the  time,  to  the  last  time  that  I ever  saw  her.  “Bro. 
Barnes,”  as  everj^body  called  him,  was  a name  that  was  daily, 
for  years,  upon  thousands  of  Kentucky'  lips.  He  left  the 
Presbyterian  church,  or  was  excommunicated,  for  heresy  to 
Presb^’teriani.sm,  and  preached  independently,  and  was  heard 
without  regard  to  au>"  church  connection.  He  believed  that 
he  could  heal  the  sick,  blind  and  maimed  by  annointing  them 
with  oil  and  pra5ung  over  them. 

Once,  at  Lexington,  I led  a poor  blind  Negro  man,  who 
believed  in  Bro.  Barnes,  up  on  a large  stage,  and  demanded 
that  Bro.  Barnes  .should  heal  him.  My  purpose  was  to  ex- 
po.se  Bro.  Barnes,  and  he  knew  that,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
the  exposure  was  plain  enough  to  have  effected  its  purpose, 
but  it  made  friends  for  Bro.  Barnes  and  enemies  for  me.  At 
Louisville  I saw  him  preaching  to  audiences  that  packed,  until 
there  was  no  longer  ‘‘standirg  room,”  the  largest  theater 
building  in  the  city,  and  I .saw  him  annoint  blind  people 
and  sick  people  and  crippled  people  and  pronounce  them 
healed,  there  and  then,  and  I saw  many  men  and  women 
who.se  appearance  indicated  that  they  were  as  fine  people  as 
lived  in  Louisville,  rise  from  all  over  that  vast  throng  of  peo- 
ple and  announce  their  faith  in  the  Christain  religion,  based 
upon  the  miracles  (?)  that  had  ju.st  then  and  there  been  per- 
formed before  their  eyes.  The  Courier-Journal  dail}^  printed 
columns  about  the  marvelous  cures  performed  at  the.se  meet- 
ings of  Bro.  Barnes,  and  never  printed  a line  indicating  that 
there  was  an}-  doubt  about  the  genuineness  of  the  miracles 
alleged  to  be  occurring  there,  every  day,  for  weeks  at  a time, 
that  these  meetings  were  being  conducted.  Such  was  the 
popularit}’  of  Rev.  Barnes  that  there  was  rivalry  among  the 
wealthiest  and  most  intelligent  citizens  of  that  city  to  enter- 


198 


BEHIND  THE  BARS : 31498. 


taiu  him  aud  the  members  of  his  family,  and  sometimes  others 
who  traveled  with  him;  any  any  hotel  in  the  city  was  glad  to 
have  him  without  an}^  charge.  I was  the  only  being  in  Ken- 
tucky who  dared,  in  print,  to  talk  about  him,  just  as  I am 
now  doing,  and  to  ridicule  the  alleged  miracles. 

Bro.  Barnes  had  lived  at  the  “Pink  Cottage,”  near  Stan- 
ford, and  when  he  left  there  it  was  used  as  a place  where  peo- 
ple were  cured  by  prayer.  The  Interior  Journal,  published  at 
Standford,  teemed  with  accounts  of  the  miraculous  healings 
that  were  con.stantly  occurring  at  the  “Pink  Cottage,’’  and 
that  paper  was  the  organ  of  Rev.  Barnes,  and  printed  long 
letters  from  him  through  which,  as  in  all  his  sermons,  there 
was  constantly  repeated  the  catch,  “Praise  the  Lord,”  and 
which,  some  years  afterward,  was  changed  to  “God  is  love 
and  nothing  else,”  which  Rev.  Barnes  wanted  everybody  to 
remember  all  the  time,  saying  the  initials  of  the  words  spelled 
“Gilane.”  When  I got  to  Stanford  I .saw  in  the  people  a dis- 
position to  make  money  out  of  the  fame  of  the  “Pink  Cot- 
tage,” like  that  at  Lourdes  and  Oberamergau.  I .soon  found 
that  in  Stanford  it  was  an  easy  thing  to  get  a fight  on  my 
hands  by  ridiculing  the  miracles  at  the  “Pink  Cottage.”  I 
hired  a .saddle  horse  and  rode  out  there  about  3 o’clock  in  a 
summer  evening. 

The  cottage  had  pretty  grounds  around  it,  and  the  cot- 
tage, which  was  pink,  of  course,  was  a one-story  building,  of 
five  rooms,  with  a porch  in  front  and  one  in  the  rear.  I 
hitched  my  hor.se,  and,  ringing  the  door-bell,  was  shown  in  by 
an  ordinary  looking  countr}^  Avonian,  who,  as  soon  as  I was 
.seated  in  the  parlor,  without  any  preliminaries,  sat  down  by 
me,  aud  asked  me  of  what  disease  I had  come  to  be  healed. 
I told  her  that  1 was  not  sick  or  diseased,  in  an}-  wa}',  but 
that  I was  a newspaper  man  and  had  come  to  get  items  for  a 
newspaper  article  about  the  cottage.  She  seemed  to  disregard 
the  newspaper  feature  of  my  vi.sit  entirely,  aud  said,  rather 
disdainfully,  that  she  knew  I was  .sick  in  some  way,  because 
she  had  never  seen  anybody  who  was  not.  I said  that  I sup- 
posed there  was  nobody  in  the  world  who  was  perfectl}^ 
healthy,  any  more  than  perfectl}^  anything  else;  that  really 


BEHIND  THE  BAES  ; 31498. 


199 


there  was  nothing  that  was  absolute — all  relative — but  that  so 
far  as  I knew  there  was  nothing  about  me  of  which  I could 
wish  to  be  healed.  She  said  that  she  did  not  mean  that  I had 
to  be  sick  in  body,  but  might  be  in  heart  or  in  soul.  I said 
that  so  far  as  I could  judge  my  mind  was  all  right,  and  that 
morally  I was  as  “sound  as  a Spanish  milled  dollar.’’  She 
still  insisted  that  she  knew  there  was  something  wrong  about 
me,  and  I said,  “If  there  is  anything  wrong  about  me  it  is  in 
my  morals,  and  it  is  the  fact  that  I use  tobacco.’’  She  said, 
“I  knew  all  the  time  that  there  was  something  the  matter 
with  you;  one  of  the  greatest  proofs  I have  that  God  heals 
people  in  answer  to  prayer  is  that  he  cured  me  of  dipping 
snuff  in  answer  to  prayer.  Come  on  out  here  in  the  back 
porch  and  we  will  pray  to  the  Lord  for  you.’’ 

She  started  on  out  and  I followed  her.  In  that  porch  I 
found  about  a dozen  lazy  and  ignorant  looking  people,  about 
equally  of  the  two  sexes,  and  the  woman  who  led  me  out  said, 
“This  man  has  come  to  get  us  to  pray  that  he  ma}^  quit  using 
tobacco.’’  They  set  a chair  for  me  about  the  middle  of  the 
porch,  and,  in  less  than  a minute,  they  were  all  kneeling 
around  me,  and  the  woman  was  praying  for  me.  She  said  to 
the  Lord  that  I used  tobacco,  and  that  I had  come  there  to 
get  them  to  cure  me,  and  that  he  had  promised,  in  the  Bible, 
to  cure  people  in  answer  to  prayer,  and  that  now  she  wanted 
him  to  be  as  good  as  his  word  and  cure  me.  I sat  there  tak- 
ing notes  in  shorthand  while  they  were  prajnng,  and  they 
finished  the  prayer  in  five  or  ten  minutes,  and  all  got  up,  and 
said  nothing  more  about  tobacco  or  prayer,  and  .soon  got  to 
talking  about  Bro.  Barnes  and  the  “Pink  Cottage’’  generally. 

I went  on  to  Crab  Orchard  Springs  that  night.  Next 
morning,  Sunday,  I had  eaten  my  breakfast  and  started  out 
to  walk  about  the  gi'ounds.  The  buildings  of  the  place  are 
houses  around  three  sides  of  a square  containing  several  acres 
in  pretty  trees  and  grass.  These  houses  are  two-story,  and 
there  is  a continuous  two-story  porch  that  runs  in  front  of 
them  looking  out  upon  the  square.  I was  sauntering  along 
on  the  upper  story  of  this  porch  when  I came  to  a man  who 
had  brought  his  chair  out  upon  the  porch  and  was  sitting 


200 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  ; 31498. 


by  the  railing  and  was  filling  a fine  meerschaum  pipe  out  of  a 
package  of  fine  tobacco  from  which  he  had  just  taken  the  first 
pipeful-  There  was  nobod}^  near  the  man.  I had  never  seen 
him  or  heard  of  him  before,  and  knew  nothing  about  him.  I 
walked  up  to  him  and  said,  “I  never  saw  you  before,  and  I 
am  not  a physician,  but  I want  to  tell  you  .something.  You 
have  come  to  this  watering  place  to  regain  your  health,  and 
you  are  ruining  your  health  using  tobacco.”  I said  it  slowly 
and  deliberately.  The  man  looked  at  me  earnestly,  but  said 
nothing,  but  as  I started  off  I saw  him  invert  the  bowl  of  his 
fine  pipe  and  strike  it  on  the  railing  so  that  the  tobacco  all  fell 
out.  I walked  on  around  the  porch,  and,  in  about  an  hour 
afterward,  came  to  the  office  and  was  standing  by  the  counter 
talking  to  the  clerk.  A little  boy  came  in  and  laid  upon  the 
counter  a package  of  smoking  tobacco  that  seemed  to  have 
had  about  one  pipeful  taken  out  of  it.  I thought  I recog- 
it  as  the  same  bag  that  the  man  with  the  meerschaum  pipe 
had  had,  and  I believe  he  had  thrown  it  away  and  that  the 
boy  had  found  it,  and  I 'told  the  clerk  what  had  happened  be- 
tween me  and  the  man  with  the  meerschaum  pipe,  and  I told 
the  clerk  that  I would  go  and  see.  I started  sauntering  along 
that  porch  just  as  I had  done  before,  and  found  the  man  .sit- 
ting there  alone  and  in  the  .same  place.  He  was  not  smoking. 
I told  him  about  having  .seen  the  boy  bring  in  a fre.shl}’ opened 
package  of  tobacco,  that  looked  like  the  one  I had  seen  him 
have  and  I said  to  him,  ‘‘Did  you  throw  it  away?”  He  .said 
‘‘Yes,”  and  did  not  seem  inclined  to  talk.  I said  to  him, 
‘'Did  you  throw  it  away  because  you  are  going  to  quit  .smok- 
ing?” and  he  said  ‘‘Yes.” 

I had  begun  to  .smoke  when  I was  in  my  .senior  5’ear  at 
college,  when  I was  nearly  twenty  years  old,  and  I used  t..- 
bacco  twenty-one  years.  I was  not  an  ‘‘excessive”  tobacco 
user,  if  we  can  conceive  that  such  a thing  can  be  u.sed  in 
moderation,  but  I had  smoked  a meerschaum,  or  old  Sister 
Lynx’s  cob  pipe,  or  a fine,  strong,  dark  cigar,  and  then  I be- 
gan chewing  tobacco.  I chewed  only  the  finest  of  fine-cut 
tobacco.  T loved  it  very  much,  and  tobacco  chewing,  as  I 
have  told  you,  had  been  the  only  bad  habit  of  my  father.  I 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  ; 31498. 


201 


used  it  so  moderately  that  a nickel’s  worth  would  last  me  a 
week,  except  when,  sometimes  a fellow  would  ask  me  for  a 
chew  and  put  into  his  mouth,  at  one  time,  as  much  as  I would 
use  in  a day  or  tw^o.  I kept  my  fine-cut  in  a pretty,  bright 
tobacco  box,  in  my  hip  pocket,  and  while  I was  talking  to 
that  man  my  box  was  nearly  full  of  splendid  tobacco.  I 
pulled  out  ni3"  prett>"  tobacco  box,  and  said  to  that  man,  “Do 
you  see  that  box?’’  He  said  “Yes.”  I di'ew^  back  my  arm  and 
threw  that  box  as  for  as  I could  sail  it  out  into  the  same 
.square  where  the  man  had  throwm  his  package  of  tobacco. 
Mj'  box  went  glittering  through  the  sunshine,  and  fell  far 
out  in  the  deep  blue  gra.ss.  I was  just  starting  to  walk  off, 
when  a gentleman  called  me  and  said,  “Wait  a minute,”  and 
came  walking  up  toward  me  and  the  other  man  and  said,  “I 
was  sitting  at  my  room  door,  yonder,  and  saw  and  heard  what 
transpired  between  3^ou  two;”  and  putting  his  hand  in  his  hip 
pocket  he  pulled  out  a plug  of  chewing  tobacco.  He  said  to 
me,  “Do  you  see  this?”  and  I said,  “Yes.”  Then  he  stepped 
back  and  threw  his  plug  of  tobacco  ju.st  as  far  as  he  could 
.send  it  in  the  .same  direction  I had  thrown  mine. 

I said  to  the  two,  “This  is  an  intere.sting  incident;  I w'ant 
to  make  a suggestion  to  3'ou.  We  will  not  sa3'  we  will  never 
use  an3^  more  tobacco,  but  let  us  here  take  each  others’  ad- 
dresses and  pledge  each  other  that  we  will  never  use  any  more 
tobacco  until  we  have  first  written  a letter  to  each  of  the  other 
two  saying  that  we  are  going  to  use  tobacco  again.  We  all 
agreed  to  it,  and  each  of  us  w'as,  wTiting  down  the  addre.sses 
of  the  others  when  a fourth  man  came  up  and  .said,  “I  quit 
u.sing  tobacco  .six  weeks  ago,  and  I want  to  go  into  this  ar- 
rangement with  3'ou;”  and  all  took  down  each  other’s  ad- 
dre.s.ses.  About  a 3'ear  after  that  I was  changing  cars  at  a 
place  where  two  railroads  cro.ssed  each  other,  and  there  was 
quite  a number  of  people  changing  and  all  were  in  a hunw. 
In  the  midst  of  it  a man  caught  m3"  hand  and  shook  it  cor- 
dially, and  called  my  name.  I .said  to  him,  “You  have  the 
advantage  of  me;  I do  not  know  3’ou.”  He  said,  “I  am  one 
of  the  men  3’ou  cured  of  u.sing  tobacco  at  Crab  Orchard 
Springs.  I said,  “Have  you  never  used  it  since?”  and  he 


202 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


said,  “No.”  I asked  him  if  he  had  ever  heard  from  the  man 
who  had  the  meerschaum  pipe,  and  he  said,  “I  saw  him  not  a 
great  while  since;  he  has  never  tasted  tobacco  since;  he  is  a 
dry  goods  merchant  in  Tennessee,  and  is  a very  determined 
man,  and  will  never  taste  tobacco  again;”  and  then  we  had  to 
jump  aboard  our  trains.  I have  lost  the  three  addresses  of  all 
the  parties,  and  though  it  has  now  been  about  twenty  years  I 
have  never,  even  by  an  accident,  had  a crumb  of  tobacco  in 
my  mouth,  in  any  shape,  since  that  Sunday  at  Crab  Orchard 
Springs.  I have  printed  the  story  in  the  Courier-Journal,  and 
said  I was  the  only  man  who  ever  w’as  cured  at  George  O. 
Barnes’  “Pink  Cottage,”  bj'  prayer. 

In  the  penitentiary  here  the  State  and  the  United  States 
furnish  pri.soners  with  chewing  tobacco.  They  paste  labels 
on  the  doors  of  such  as  use  tobacco,  on  which  is  printed  sim- 
ply the  word  “Tobacco,”  so  that  the  man  who  goes  around 
to  the  cells  with  the  tobacco  may  know  where  to  leave  it. 
Before  I knew  it  they  had  pasted  a tobacco  label  on  my  door. 
I told  the  man  I did  not  use  it  and  didn’ t want  the  label  on  my 
cell  door.  He  said,  “You  can  just  keep  the  tobacco  and  swap 
it  off  for  sornething  else.”  I .said,  “No,  I don’t  want  any 
body  to  think  I use  tobacco  even  if  I am  in  the  penitentiary.” 
Next  day  I found  that  the  label  had  been  .soaked  off. 

I have  alluded  to  my  writing  .shorthand.  I found  I 
would  have  much  spare  time  at  the  hotels  and  on  trains  and 
steamboats  and  I concluded  to  learn  shorthand.  I got  Gra- 
ham’s text  book  on  shorthand.  It  is  nearly  the  .same  as  Pitt- 
man’s with  a few  little  improvements  on  Pittman.  I soon 
found  it  a wonderfully  interesting  .study,  and  one  of  the  most 
ingenious  of  di.scoveries,  and  exceedingly  difficult  of  perfect 
understanding  and  accomplishment.  I studied  it  as  I trav- 
eled and  had  no  assistance  except  my  text  book,  and,  from 
the  fact  that  I had  to  overcome  all  the  difficulties  in  it,  just 
by  my  per.sonal  application,  I learned  it  very  thoroughly.  In 
order  to  familiarize  my.self  with  it  I encouraged  the  habit  of 
thinking  in  shorthand  and  afterward,  whether  purposely  or 
unconsciously  I know  not,  I got  to  moving  my  right  forefinger 
and  thumb  in  .S3'mpathy  with  my  thoughts,  writing  shorthand 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


203 


in  my  imagination.  The  disposition  to  write  with  my  fore- 
finger and  thumb,  in  sympathy  with  m}’-  thinking  began  to  be 
an  annoyance  to  me,  and  I tried  hard  to  stop  it.  I succeeded 
in  stopping  the  disposition  in  my  forefinger,  but  it  seemed  to 
only  increase  that  in  my  thumb.  I wrote  shorthand  in  my 
mind  and  with  my  thumb  until  it  seemed  to  me  liable  to  de- 
range m}^  mind,  and  I went  to  our  family  physician.  Dr.  W. 
N.  Atkins,  to  advise  with  him  about  it.  He  readil}^  recog- 
nized that  there  might  be  such  a difficulty,  and  advised  me 
kindly  and  I suppose  scientifically;  but  it  did  me  no  good.  I 
reasoned  that  there  was  in  my  composition  a certain  amount 
of  intellectual  and  physical  energy  that  had  to  be  expended 
in  writing,  just  as  our  appetite  for  food  demands  gratification. 
I noticed  that  while  writing  the  ordinary  long  hand,  in  anj' 
kind  of  composition,  my  mind  and  thumb  were  relieved  from 
the  shorthand  writing,  and  I felt  that  I was  simply  bound,  in 
self  defense,  to  keep  myself  either  constantly  writing  long 
hand  or  thinking  about  what  I was  to  write  in  long  hand,  and 
I am,  to  this  day,  in  pri.son,  forced  to  keep  writing  or  think- 
ing about  writing  in  longhand. 

When  I now  get  despondent,  which  is  common  with  me, 
or  get  into  any  kind  of  trouble  more  than  ordinary,  I cannot 
control  my  thumb  and  write  shorthand  until  I am  almost  dis- 
tracted. I have  tried  to  stop  it  b}'  fastening  my  thumb  and 
forefinger  together  with  a gum  baud;  but  it  did  no  good.  It 
was,  indeed,  exceedingly  fortunate  for  me  that  Warden  Coffin, 
of  this  prison,  made  me  a.ssi,stant  superintendent  of  the  print- 
ing department  of  this  prison,  and  put  me  to  doing  the  prin- 
cipal writing  on  the  prison  paper;  and  so  between  my  daily 
literary  duties  and  the  writing  of  this  book  at  spare  times, 
which  will  occupy  about  a month,  I am  nearly  entirely  free 
from  the  annoyance  of  mentally  writing  shorthand  all  the 
time.  But  for  years  I have  been  compelled  to  write  long 
hand  to  relieve  myself  from  writing  shorthand,  and  I expect 
to  be  compelled  to  do  it  the  balance  of  my  life  for  the  same 
reason,  and,  whether  financially  successful  or  not,  I expect, 
on  this  account,  if  for  no  other,  to  remain  a writer  for  print 
so  long  as  I can  write.  The  things  that  I write  in  shorthand 


204 


Behind  the  baes;  31498. 


in  these  cases  of  mental  trouble  are  just  any  random  words 
that  majf  be  the  last  I have  heard  somebod}^  speak,  or  that  I 
saw  in  print,  or  that  just  accidentally  occurred  to  me,  and,  in 
spite  of  my  efforts  to  the  contrary,  I will  write  the  words 
over  and  over  again.  I have  even  tried  to  forget  shorthand 
and  have  tried  to  change  my  habit  by  writing  with  some  of 
mj^  fingers  rather  than  my  right  thumb,  but  I cannot  do  it; 
cannot  even  change  it  into  the  habit  of  writing  with  the  fore- 
finger of  my  right  hand. 

I rarely  use  shorthand  practically  except  to  make  memo- 
randums, and  in  cases  where  I want  to  put  down  much  in  a 
little  space  and  rapidl}^  and,  sometimes  in  writing  for  print, 
when  my  mind  goes  ahead  of  what  I can  write  in  longhand,  I 
put  down  .shorthand  memorandums  on  the  margin  of  1115^ 
paper,  knowing  that  they  cannot  confuse  the  printers.  Once 
a young  lady  came  to  me  in  Lexington  and  said  she  knew  I 
wrote  shorthand  and  that  she  wanted  to  learn  it.  I told  her 
what  text  books  to  get  and,  with  other  instruction  I gave  her, 
told  her  to  get  in  a habit  of  thinking  in  shorthand.  About 
two  years  afterward  I met  her  on  the  street  and  she  said  to 
me,  “Mr.  Moore,  you  remember  that  when  you  told  me  about 
learning  shorthand,  you  told  me  to  learn  to  . think  in  short- 
hand. I did  so,  and  now  I have  gotten  .so  that  I write  short- 
hand all  the  time  with  my  right  forefinger,  and  can’t  stop  it.’’ 
And  with  an  expression  of  ]>ain  on  her  face,  .she  showed  me, 
all  the  time  we  were  talking,  how  her  right  forefinger  wrote 
shorthand  on  the  black  .silk  apron  that  she  had  on.  I had 
never  mentioned  to  her  the  trouble  of  the  same*  kind  that  I 
had,  and  I do  not  know  that  I had  made  it  known  to  any  one. 
My  son,  who  lives  in  Washington  City,  has  told  me  of  a man 
that  he  knows  who  is  troubled  with  .shorthand  writing  just 
as  I am. 

Years  before  1 learned  to  write  shorthand  I wrote  in  long- 
hand,  with  the  big  toe  of  my  right  foot,  “Robt.  J.  Breckin- 
ridge.’’ I have  written  that  name,  in  that  way,  thousands 
and  thousands  of  times.  In  writing,  the  connection  was  only 
between  my  mind  and  my  big  toe;  but,  of  course,  my  whole 
foot  moved  with  my  toe.  I never  wrote  out  the  full  name, 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  ; 31498. 


205 


Robert,  but  simply  the  contraction,  Robt.  I always  w’rote 
the  whole  name  without  raising  my  pen,  so  to  speak.  I do 
not  believe 'that  the  pow'er  of  thought  is  in  the  brain  any  more 
than  in  an}'  other  part  of  the  body — certainly  no  more  than  in 
the  medulla  oblongata,  or  spinalis,  and  I think  w’hat  I have 
given  is  some  evidence  of  my  view.  My  right  thumb  has  a 
mind  of  its  own,  that  not  only  operates  independently  of  miy 
volition,  but  in  opposition  to  my  volition.  And  yet  I know, 
apparently  in  contravention  of  m)'  owm  theory,  that  a man 
who  has  his  right  leg  amputated  at  the  hip  will  suffer  wdth 
cold  in  his  right  foot,  and  I believe  that  if  my  right  leg  had 
been  amputated  before  I learned  shorthand,  I would  still  have 
written  “Robt.  J.  Breckinridge’’  with  my  right  toe,  and  that 
if  my  right  arm  were  now  amputated  I would  still,  in  my 
mental  depression,  write  shorthand  with  my  right  thumb. 

Insanity  of  bod}'  or  mind  is  the  inevitable  result  of  a vis  a 
tergo,  for  which  heredity  and  environment — not  ourselves — are 
responsible.  An  absolute  instance  of  “mens  sana  in  sano  cor- 
pore’’  does  not  exist  in  the  universe.  There  is  nothing  abso- 
lute except  mathematics.  The  multiplication  table  is  abso- 
lutely accurate;  the  three  angles  of  every  triangle  are  abso- 
lutely equal  to  two  right  angles.  All  else  is  relative,  and 
mental  sanity  depends  upon  w'ho  is  to  umpire  the  case.  Some 
of  the  most  prominent  of  the  clergy  of  Texington  have  said, 
in  public  print,  that  they  thought  me  insane,  while,  to  my 
mind,  there  can  be  no  higher  evidence  of  a man’s  insanity 
than  the  fact  that  he  believes  any  religion,  and  especially  the 
Jewish  or  Christian,  to  be  true.  Upon  this  issue  there  is  now 
an  “irrepressible  conflict,’’  to  the  bitterness  of  which  my  im- 
prisonment will  add. 

I am  going  to  ask  that  here  my  w'ife  may  give  to  my 
printers  three  or  four  Lev^ering  Coffee  poems  that  I wrote,  and 
to  put  them  in  a separate  chapter  to  themselves,  printing  them 
with  the  same  heads  that  they  had  in  the  newspapers.  I will 
here  begin 


206 


BEHIND  THE  BARS,  31498. 

CHAPTER  IX. 
JONES. 


.‘VN  EPIC — BY  PERRY  P.  TETIE. 


.Jones  was  a gentleman,  born  in  Kentucky; 

Was  bright,  young,  handsome  and  withal  so  lucky 
As  to  have  inherited  houses  and  land, 

And  a cool  hundred  thousand  of  cash  iji  hand. 

In  science  and  ethics  .Tones  was  a scholar ; 

Sound  in  the  faith  as  a Spanish  milled  dollar ; 
Thought  Ingersoll  ci’azy  and  Darwin  a fool : 

Had  a pew  in  a church  of  the  orthodox  school. 

And  .Tones  had  traveled  and  feasted  his  eyes, 

And  stomach  on  foreign  menus  and  skies. 

“Coelum  non  animum  mutant” — you  know  it, 

.Tones  found  to  be  true  in  the  heathen  poet. 

For  .Tones  had  sauntered  all  through  the  Ttiilleries, 
Parisian,  Venitian  and  Florentine  galleries  ; 

Had  done  great  Rome  on  the  Tiber  Fluvius  ; 
Smothered  a dog,  boiled  eggs,  at  Vesuvius. 

.Tones  knew,  like  a book,  the  land  of  Pharaoh, 

Had  ridden  a camel  from  .Toppa  to  Cairo, 

Had  bought  everything  that  bucksheesh  could  buy 
To  tickle  the  palate  or  dazzle  the  eye. 

As  for  Golden  Horn  and  Constantinople, 

Not  only  did  Jones  know  all  the  j^eople. 

But  every  dog  knew  just  as  soon  as  he’d  sight  him, 
And  every  flea  flew  just  delighted  to  bite  him. 

All  Sardis,  Micale,  Arbela  he  knew, 

And  Leuctra  and  Cannae  and  Salamis  too  ; 

l^latea,  Pharsalia  and  Marathon,  ho 

.lust  knew  them  by  heart,  and  Thermopylae. 

( Which  last  is  the  place  where  Leonidas  bold, 

Told  the  whoppingest  yarn  that  ever  was  told. 

’Bout  arrows  so  thick  that  they  thought  it  was  night. 
And  lighted  the  gas  to  see  how  to  fight). 

Baalbec,  Persepolis.  Thebes,  Palmyra. 

Tiabylon,  Carthage,  Miletus  and  Tyra, 

Tenedos,  Tarentum,  Pactolus  and  Paphos, 

He  kpew  like  a V)ook,  (He  summered  at  Samos). 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


2C7 


He’d  been  where  was  born,  and  where  now  reposes, 
Each  one  of  those  coons  but  Homer  and  Moses  ; 
Hipparchus,  Hesiod  and  Alcibiades. 

Epaminondas,  Zeno,  Miltiades ; 

Herodotus,  Solon  and  Hippocrates, 

Scipio,  Sallust,  Sesostris,  Socrates, 

Pittacus,  Pisistratus,  Pytliagoras, 

Epictetus,  Xerxes,  Anaxagoras, 

Sophocles,  Senacherib,  Shalinanezer, 

Pomjiey  and  Crassus  and  Julius  Caesar ; 

Names  like  Sardinapalus  and  Xenophon, 

Which  to  get  into  meter  is  not  any  fun. 

Jones  knew,  beside,  each  one  of  the  ologies, 
Treated  in  books  or  taught  in  the  colleges  ; 
Anatomy,  Botany  and  Geology, 

Psychology,  Philology,  Phrenology ; 

Then  Ichthiology  and  Stenography, 

And  Ornithology  and  Geography, 

Also  Astronomy  and  Astrology, 

Paleontology  and  Theology. 

And  Jones  played  the  fiddle,  flute  and  piano, 

Sang  tenor  and  bass,  alto  and  soprano  ; 

In  German  and  racquet,  in  waltz  or  Lancers, 

Tip’d  the  light  fantastic  among  the  dancers. 

But  here’s  the  surprising  part  of  my  story. 

Jones  wasn’t  happy  either  since  or  before  he 
Got  married  ; for  he’d  a beautiful  wife. 

And  as  sweet  as  you  ever  saw  in  your  life. 

They  went  to  theater,  concert,  opera, 

Lecture,  skating  rink,  beer  garden,  hop  or  a 
Church  (to  alleviate  worldly  distresses 
By  saying  their  prayers  and  looking  at  dresses. ) 

And  Jones  kept  a table  with  viands  and  mets. 

In  Haviland’s  hand-painted,  French  china  sets. 

And  all  the  new  dishes  that  ever  were  seen. 

Gotten  up  in  the  style  of  the  French  cuisine. 

His  wines  were  Catawba,  Sauterne,  Pommery, 
Claret,  Souv’raine,  Piper,  Mumm’s  Extra  dry, 
Hockheimer,  Topaz,  Kelly  Island,  Chateau, 

Rhine,  Port,  Sherry,  St.  Emilien,  Bordeaux. 


BEHIND  THE  BADS;. 31498. 


308 

Yet  .Tones  was  not  happy  ; some  great  adiing  void, 

Some  horrid  hiatus  his  pleasure  alloyed  ; 

Some  desideratum  he  never  could  lind  ; 

Some  sine  qua  non  foi-  a satisfied  mind. 

.Tones  met  by  rare  chance  one  day,  do  you  know,  sir, 

A cultured,  pious,  intelligent  grocer. 

And,  under  the  guise  of  inspecting  his  wares, 

.Tust  walked  in  to  talk  and  unbosom  his  cares. 

“What’s  that  brown  package?”  said  .Tones,  “may  I know,  sir 
“That’s  Levering’s  coffee,”  responded  the  grocer. 

“Is  it  good?”  said  Jones,  his  eyes  opened  wide  ; 

“The  best  in  the  world,”  the  good  grocer  replied. 

Then  Jones,  like  a Christian,  gentleman,  scholar, 

Put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  pulled  out  a dollar. 

Which  bought  him  five  pounds,  (that’s  the  lowest  figger), 
And  had  it  sentj’round  to  his  house  by  a nigger. 

******** 

Some  months  have  passed  Ijy,  Mr.  Jones  and  his  wife 
Are  the  happiest  folks  you’ve  seen  in  your  life  ; 

And  that  pious  grocer,  from  whom  Jones  did  buy 
Lives  in  a brown  stone  front,  four  stories  high. 


A DREAM  OF  HAM  AND  COFFEE. 


BY  PERRY  P.  TETTK. 


Ham  for  supper!  (.)ld  Moses  w'as  level, 

When  he  said  that  a hog  wasn’t  fit  for  the  devil ; 
And  only  some  heathenish  son  of  a gun 
Would  ever  have  thought  of  eating  one. 

1 may  be  at  fault ; decidedly  am 
Inclined  to  believe  that  the  curse  upon  Ham, 
That  old  Noah  uttered  when  once  on  a tight, 
Referred  to  the  eating  of  bacon  at  night. 

Supper  was  late,  and,  hungry  as  thunder, 

I committed  a terrible  hygienic  blunder 
First,  under  my  vest  1 proceeded  to  cram 
Half  of  a sugar-cured  Magnolia  Ham, 

Then  smoked  a cigar  and  rolled  into  bed  ; 

But  dreams  that  floated  around  in  my  head 
No  artist  can  limn,  nor  poet  scan, 

Of  the  Levering’s  Roasted  Colfee  man. 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


209 


I stood  again  where  the  Magnolia  blooms, 

And  its  fragrance  on  Southern  zepher  comes ; 

And  I drew  in  the  breeze  of  the  Magnolia  dell ; 

But  nothing  but  Levering's  Coffee  could  smell. 
Then,  where  the  waves  of  the  fruitful  St.  John 
Through  Florida,  and  to  the  sea,  roll  on, 

I plucked  the  ripe  golden  orange  and  bit ; 

And  nothing  but  coffee  could  taste  in  it. 

Again,  where  the  Father  of  Waters  pours 
Into  the  sea,  and  where  the  sea  roars, 

I stood  and  watched  the  dusky  waves 
That  rushed  and  roared  in<o  ocean  caves  ; 

But  as  far  as  the  eye  eoui.i  stretch  and  behold. 
Nothing  but  billows  of  coffee  rolled  ; 

And  the  jetty  of  Mr.  Eades  but  surrounds 
Thousands  of  acres  of  “coffee  grounds.” 

And  sea  serpents,  mermaids,  dolphins  and  whales. 
Rose  out  of  the  sea  and  stood  on  their  tails. 

And  of  Coffee  A sugar  rolled  up  a whole  mountain 
Right  into  the  mouth  of  that  terrible  fountain, 
And  while  Yosemite  poured  in  a stream 
Of  the  richest  and  best  of  Alderney  cream. 

They  drank  out  of  shells  selected  at  will. 

From  the  size  of  a coffee-cup  up  to  a still. 

And  then,  where  the  Geysers  of  Iceland  spout, 
And  where  the  hot  springs  of  Arkansas  run  out. 
And  the  fountains  leayi  up  at  Fontainbleau, 

Where  the  great  Croton  pipes  do  rush  and  flow  ; 
There  hottest  of  coffee  leaps  and  dashes — 
Levering’s  best  coffee  spouts  and  splashes — 

And  A'esuvius  e’en  her  wrath  forgot 
And  steamed  like  a jolly  old  coffee  pot. 

Then,  again,  at  Niagara  I wondered, 

AVhile  coffee  adown  its  fathoms  thundered. 

And  great  ships  a coffee  ocean  sailed  o’er. 

From  Java  and  Rio  to  Baltimore; 

AYhile  over  my  head  did  great  black  clouds  rise. 
And  rain  down  coffee  from  thundering  skies  ; 

And  yet  more  astonishing  still  to  tell — 

But  I woke — YeS,  that  is  the  breakfast  bell. 


210 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


A SONG  OF  COFFEE. 


BY  PERRY  P.  TETIK. 


[Air — From  Greenland’s  Icy  Mountain.] 

From  Vermont’s  icy  mountains, 
From  Indiana’s  land, 

Where  California’s  fountains 
Roll  down  their  golden  sand. 

From  land  and  lake  and  river. 

And  every  other  place. 

They  call  is  to  deliver 
This  coffee  by  the  case. 

What  though  sweet  coffee  breezes 
Blow  soft  o’er  Java’s  isle. 

What  wife  her  husband  pleases 
Who  makes  his  coffee  vile? 

And  how  unpaid  the  kindness 
■ Of  Levering  to  our  land. 

If  people  in  their  blindness 
Use  any  other  brand. 

Shall  we  whose  heads  are  level. 

And  use  the  E.  L.  C., 

Let  men  go  to  the  devil. 

As  fast  as  fast  can  be 
From  drinking  low  grade  coffees. 
And  never  once  proclaim 
The  sweet  content  that  offers 
In  Levering’s  matchless  name. 

Quaff,  quaff  this  drink,  fair  women. 
From  gloom  dispelling  bowl. 

Till  like  politics  with  the  men 
It  spreads  from  poll  to  poll 
Till  o’er  our  handsome  nation 
The  Levering’s  coffee  fame 
Will  make  the  whole  creation 
Rise  up  and  bless  his  name. 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


211 


JOHNNY  AND  HIS  SLED. 


A POME. 


BY  PERRY'  P.  TETIK. 


Little  Johnny  for  a ride 
Concluded  he  would  go  and  slide. 

For  Johnny  thought  the  best  of  riding 
Was  getting  on  a slide  and  sliding. 

And  so  he  started  up  the  road 
And  then  he  took  his  slide  and  slode, 

And  down  the  hill  he  fairly  flew', 

So  slickly  on  his  sled  he  slew, 

And  not  sufBciently  had  ridden 
Until  he  four  miles  had  slidden. 

While  doing  as  his  mother  bid 
Upon  his  slide  he  safely  slid 
But,  alas  ! too  long  he  stayed 
Upon  his  sleigh  too  long  he  sleighed 
And  he  was  ordered  to  his  bed 
For  sliding  so  long  on  his  sled, 

And  told  that  he  w'as  very  bad 
Because  upon  his  slide  he  slad, 

And  got  bedabbled  in  the  mud 
In  consequence  of  having  slud. 

And  any  boy  should  feel  the  rod 
Who  disobediently  had  slod. 

But  if  he’d  take  his  slide  so  slick 
Up  to  the  grocery  right  quick 
And  a load  of  Levering’s  coffee  bring 
She  would  forgive  the  naughty  thing. 

Ami  Johnny  did  as  he  was  bid 
And  to  the  grocery  quickly  slid. 

And  as  soon  as  he  got  his  load 

Right  straight  back  home  he  slickly  slode. 


212 


BEHIND  THE  BAES ; 31408. 


CHAPTER  X. 

When  I had  spent  a 5^ear  and  a half  traveling  for  Lever- 
ing’s Roasted  Coffee  firm,  though  the  relations  between  us 
had  all  the  time  been  as  pleasant  as  could  be,  and  I thought  I 
might  get  a salary  of  $ioo  a month  and  my  expenses,  I be- 
came so  tired  of  traveling  and  so  home  sick,  and  so  tired  of 
talking  about  coffee  that  I wrote  the  Leverings  that  I did  not 
think  I could  do  them  justice,  and  I gave  up  my  position. 
That  was  about  1882.  I came  back  to  Lexington  and  went 
into  journalism,  again  emploj^ed  by  the  most  prominent  daily 
in  the  town.  I wanted  to  say  things  all  the  time  that  the 
editor  and  proprietor  would  not  let  me  say,  and  several  times 
I was  discharged  because  I would  say  things  that  he  did  not 
want  me  to  say.  I was  very  much  disgusted  at  seeing  how 
the  press  pandered  to  the  church  and  to  the  liquor  traffic.  It 
disgusted  me  to  see  how  priests  and  preachers  would  manage 
to  get  “puffs"  of  themselves  into  the  papers,  and  that  the 
most  common- place  pulpit  platitudes  from  the  most  ordinary 
men  were  alwaj's  spoken  of  as  “eloquent,"  and  nothing  relig- 
ious was  ever  fairly  criticised  It  disgusted  me  to  .see  how 
crimes  committed  in  saloons  were  kept  out  of  the  papers  and 
that  the  editors  were  brought  to  do  this  bj^  the  advertisements 
of  saloon  keepers.  I saw  horrible  crimes  committed  in  sa- 
loons, and  when  I reported  them  fairly,  I found,  in  several 
instances,  that  my  reports  of  them  had  not  appeared  in  the 
paper.  I thought  it  possible  that  there  was  some  good  rea- 
son for  it,  and  said  but  little,  if  anything  about  it.  Finally  I 
wrote  a fair  report  of  a saloon  crime  and  it  was  not  published, 
I felt  that  I was  in  a position  where mry  paper  would  report 
anything  good  for  the  church  and  for  the  .saloons,  but  nothing 
bad,  and  I knew  I was  the  principal  wuiter  for  the  paper,  and 
I felt  that  I was  being  used  as  a tool  to  give  a one-sided'  view 
of  tho,se  two  very  important  things,  and  I was  not  willing  to 
do  it.  M3'  habit  was  to  .spend  my  time  in  Lexington  until 
midnight  every  Saturda3P  and  then  start  afoot  to  my  home 
eight  miles  in  the  country  and  sta\’  until  Monday  morning. 
One  night  in  1884,  as  I was  walking  home  from  Lexington, 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


213 


and  was  about  two  miles  from  the  city,  and  was  feeling  dis- 
gusted with  the  way  newspapers  pandered  to  the  pulpit  and 
the  saloon,  it  occurred  to  me  that  I ought  to  start  a paper  of 
my  own.  In  five  minutes  the  suggestion  matured  into  a de- 
termination, and  I began  to  think  of  a name  for  the  paper, 
and,  in  less  than  a minute,  the  name  Blue  Grass  Blade  oc- 
curred to  me;  my  purpose  being  to  have  the  name  a play  on  a 
blade  of  bluegrass  and  a sort  of  metaphoric  Damascus  blade. 
The  name  seemed  to  suit  my  purpose  exactly,  but  I could  not 
realize  that  the  very  best  name  for  my  paper  w'ould  occur  to 
me  in  only  a minutes’  thought,  and  I thought  of  several 
other  names  for  it,  but  each  time  my  judgment  would  turn  to 
the  first  name  suggested  to  me,  and  I determined  that  the 
paper  should  be  named  The  Blue  Grass  Blade. 

It  soon  became  known  that  I was  going  to  start  my  own 
paper,  and  there  was  considerable  curiosity  to  see  it.  My  ex- 
pectation was  to  make  it  merely  a local  paper,  to  extend  no 
further  than  the  boundaries  of  the  “Blue  Grass  Region”  of 
Kentucky.  I arranged  at  once  for  its  publication  and  its  first 
issue  was  caught  up  with  great  avidity.  I said,  in  my  firs; 
editorial,  “I  am  not  a prohibitionist.”  I wrote  everything  in 
in  it  first-personally,  using  the  pronoun  “I”  instead  of  the 
customary  editorial  “we.”  I was  much  in  earnest  in  all  I 
said  and  while  it  was  not  my  purpose  to  make  it  a “funnj" 
paper,”  I had  an  accute  sense  of  the  ridiculous,  and  when 
things  naturally  suggested  themselves  to  me  in  that  light  I 
treated  them  in  that  manner,  and  as  contrasted  with  the  very 
dry  style  of  Lexington  journalism  up  to  that  time,  it  amused 
people  generally,  and  many  people,  while  they  laughed,  read 
my  pretty  severe  strictures  upon  religion,  and  upon  the  liquor 
traffic,  when  they  would  not  have  read  them  in  the  ordinary 
way  of  opposing  tho.se  two  institutions. 

When  I had  run  the  paper  three  months  and  it  was  all  the 
time  a success,  there  came  into  my  head  the  idea,  “Quit  while 
your  credit’s  good.”  It  was  started  by  the  suggestion  of  my 
wife,  w’hose  criticism  has  always  been  more  to  me  than  all  the 
balance  of  the  wcrrld,  that  I could  not  expect  to  keep  my  paper 
up  to  the  interest  it  was  then  creating;  and  for  no  other  reason 


214 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


than  that,  I stopped  my  paper  and  sent  back  to  all  subscribers 
the  pro  rata  of  their  subscriptions.  I stopped  it  for  three 
months  and  started  it  again  and  ran  it  for  another  three  months 
and  stopped  it  for  the  second  time,  refunding  the  subscription 
money  as  before,  because  very  bitter  things  were  beginning  to  be 
said  and  written  against  me.  I had  been  conservative  and  kept 
back  many  things  that  I wanted  to  say;  but  out  of  a i,ooO' 
people  who  will  help  a man  to  gain  distinction  900  will  turn 
against  him  and  help  to  drag  him  down  when  he  has  attained 
it;  and  this  was  my  experience.  I then  started  the  Blade  the 
third  time,  determined  to  say  just  what  I thought  ought  to  be 
said  about  anybody  and  anything.  The  sensation  produced 
was  such  as  was  never  caused  by  any  new.spaper  printed  in 
America  except  those  that  were  printed  against  slavery,  in- 
cluding the  one  printed  in  Lexington  by  Cassius  M.  Clay,  re- 
sulting in  his  office  being  torn  down  by  the  leading  people  of 
Lexington  and  thrown  into  the  streets,  and  in  his  being  at- 
tacked by  men,  one  of  whom  he  killed  with  a bowie-knife,  and 
the  other  of  whom  he  cut  so  badly  that  he  barely  survived  it. 

My  paper  was  printed  the  third  time  I began  it  by  Mr. 
J.  M.  Byrnes,  who  then  had  the  same  fine  printing  house,  in 
Lexington,  that  he  now  has.  After  the  first  issue  of  my 
paper  it  got  so  that  a considerable  time  before  the  hour  came 
for  its  appearance  a crowd  would  so  gather  around  the  door 
that  Mr.  Byrnes  would  not  only  have  to  lock  the  street  door, 
but  stand  outside  to  guard  his  doors  and  windows.  Beside 
my  regular  edition,  that  went  to  nearly  all  the  leading  people 
in  the  city,  I have  sold  as  high  as  750  papers  on  the  streets  of 
Lexington.  When  the  issue  would  seem  likely  to  run  short 
the  newsboys  would  sell  them  for  25  and  50  cents  each,  and  I 
have  had  a dollar  offered  me  for  a single  copy  in  the  office. 

A meeting  of  the  citizens  of  Lexington,  at  the  court 
house,  was  called  to  oppose  the  influence  of  the  Blade.  It 
was  presided  over  by  a prominent  Christian  Circuit  Judge, 
and  the  leading  speakers  against  me  were  the  most  prominent 
preacher  in  the  town,  and  the  most  prominent  saloon  keeper 
in  the  town,  who  had  been  indicted  for  selling  liquor  to  min- 
ors and  allowing  gambling  in  his  house.  I was  insulted  and 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


215 


threatened  on  the  streets  until  it  was  daily  expected  by  the 
public  that  I would  be  killed,  and  it  seemed  to  me  highly 
probable  that  I would  be.  I was  first  assaulted  by  a small 
man,  who  was  then  and  is  now,  a prominent  citizen  of  Lex- 
ington. I did  not  strike  him,  but  simply  caught  him  and 
held  him.  I was  next  assaulted  by  a very  powerful  and  ath- 
letic young  man,  occupying  a most  prominent  position  in  so- 
ciety. He  drew  a pistol  on  me,  but  did  not  shoot  when  he 
saw  I had  none.  The  first  intimation  of  his  presence  was  a 
terrible  blow  in  my  face  that  cut  my  face  and  came  near  put- 
ting out  one  eye  with  the  broken  glass  of  my  spectacles,  leav- 
ing me  almo  t blind.  The  blow  came  near  knocking  me  down. 
I had  by  practice  and  precept  done  all  I could  to  oppose  the 
violence  for  which  Kentucky  is  famous,  and  had  preferred  to 
be  thought  a coward  rather  than  to  resort  to  brute  force,  and 
such  is  my  position  to-day.  But  when  I thought  that  I saw 
that'  the  man  would  kill  me,  or  seriously  wound  me,  if  I did 
not  defend  myself,  I fought  him  and  he  retreated  leaving  m? 
where  he  had  made  the  assanlt.  He  came  back  at  me  a sec- 
ond time,  and  after  the  second  round  he  retreated  again.  We 
vvere  both  arrested  and  I was  put  in  the  city  jail,  because  I 
refused  to  give  any  bond,  when  the  best  people  in  Lexington 
begged  me  to  let  them  go  on  my  bond,  and  when  the  trial 
came  he  was  fined  and  I was  acquitted,  the  people  applauding 
the  verdict  until  the  judge  threatened  to  punish  them  for  dis- 
order, and  every  member  of  the  jury  congratulating  me  by 
shaking  hands  with  me. 

Insults  and  threats  to  kill  me,  made  by  Christian  people, 
became  common.  I do  not  care  to  give  the  names  and  the  de- 
tails of  the  cases,  because  I do  not  wish  unnecessarily  to  sub- 
ject my  family  or  myself  to  further  danger.  Though,  as  I 
have  told  you,  my  only  active  part  in  the  war  was  a short  ex- 
perience in  two  Confederate  hospitals,  a Major  in  the  Federa 
army  and  his  wife  drove  to  my  house,  eight  miles  in  the  coun- 
try, to  tell  me  of  a plot  they  had  heard  to  assassinate  me,  and, 
for  weeks,  my  wife  kept  our  windows  darkened  at  night,  for 
fear  I would  be  assassinated  by  being  shot,  through  the  win- 
dows. The  parties  who  it  was  thought  would  assassinate  me 


218 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


were  and  are  Christians,  who  had  been’^reared  by  parents  of 
extraordinary  zeal  in  religion.  There  were  four  men  who 
were  especially  formidable  to  me  as  enemies.  They  were  all 
Christians.  All  of  them  were  'Confederate  soldiers.  Three 
of  them  were  judges,  and  from  two^of  those  judges  I had 
threats  of  bodily  harm,  one  threatening  to  kill  me  in  plain 
words.  Of  these  two  one  has  done  more  by  his  speeches  and 
writings  to  uphold  the  Christian  religion  than  any  man  who 
has  lived  in  Kentucky  in  my  day.  He  and  the  other  Judge 
who  threatened  to  kill  me,  and  who  for  so  doing  was  ap- 
plauded by  all  the  newspapers  in  Lexington  have  come  to  me 
and  said  they  were  sorry  for  what  they  did,  and  we  are  friends 
to  this  day,  and  one  of  them  has  written,  in  most  beautiful 
and  complimentary  style,  about  me,  in  different  publications 
since  my  imprisonment  here. 

The  Judge  who  never  threatened  any  violence  to  me,  and 
who  has  never  expressed  any  regret  for  his  opposition  to  me, 
has  been  succeeded  by  a Judge  known  to  be  an  infidel,  who 
has,  all  the  time,  been  my  friend,  and  who,  when  I was  tried 
for  blasphemy  against  the  Holy  Ghost,  at  the  instigation  of 
a Methodist  preacher  of  Lexington,  made  the  decision  in  my 
favor  that  will  probably  be  the  last  ever  rendered  in  this  gov- 
ernment for  blasphemy  against  the  Holy  Ghost,  or  any  other 
ghost,  or  for  blasphemy  against  anything  else.  The  fourth 
of  the  Confederate  soldiers  who  assaulted  me  was  the  most 
prominent  of  the  four  men,  all  of  whom  were  unknown  to 
me,  and  who  lay  in  wait  for  me,  and  ran  up  behind  me  and 
dragged  me  back  as  I was  getting  on  a train,  just  moving  off, 
when  I was  returning  to  my  home  from  a call  to  see  a sick 
Campbellite  or  Christian  preacher,  R.  B.  Neal.  Those  four 
men  were  spoken  of  by  the  New  York  World  as  “four  dea- 
cons” of  a church  that  the  paper  named,  and  their  object  was 
to  get  the  name  of  a member  of  their  own  church  who  had 
furnished  me  the  information  that  I printed,  their  purpose 
being  to  do  personal  violence  to  the  man  who  informed  me. 
They  never  got  what  they  wanted  and  never  will,  though  all 
that  I printed  was  evidently  written  by  just  such  a party  as  I 
represented,  and  the  Commonwealth’s  attorney  who  prose- 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


217 


cuted  me,  said  to  the  grand  jury,  in  my  presence,  that  the 
fact  that  all  I said  was  true,  made  the  offense  all  the  greater. 

That  Confederate  soldier  was  afterward  killed  in  a saloon 
by  a policemen  while  resisting  arrest.  He  said  before  he  died 
that  he  was  a.shamed  of  what  he  had  done  to  me,  and  I 
printed  in  the  Blade  what  he  had  said,  and  asked  that  my 
friends  lay  some  flowers  on  his  grave.  To  guard  my  publish- 
ers and  because  I do  not  care  again  to  agitate  questions  that 
have  been  decided  in  my  favor  by  all  good  and  fair  people  who 
know  of  them,  and  because  my  paper  has,  largely  in  conse- 
quence of  the  injustice  that  has  been  done  me,  developed  into 
a national  paper  that  is  not  intended  to  discuss  mere  local  and 
personal  things,  I will  now  avoid  identification  of  persons  and 
places.  In  no  case  will  I give  the  specific  words  that  I printed 
for  which  I have  three  times  been  imprisoned,  twice  in  jail 
and  once  in  the  penitentiary,  because  such  might  lay  my  pub- 
lishers and  my  family  liable  to  prosecution  and  persecution  by 
my  Christian  enemies;  though  there  is  nothing  that  I would 
rather  put  in  this  book  than  the  exact  words,  from  my  paper, 
for  which  I have  been  imprisoned  three  times  by  public  prose- 
cutions, because  nothing  could  so  plainly  tell  the  injustice  that 
has  been  done  me  as  for  me  to  print,  here,  from  ni)^  paper  the 
exact  words  that  I have  written  and  for  which  I have  been 
imprisoned. 

The  first  time  I was  imprisoned  was  by  a church,  for 
which  I had  once  preached,  in  a Kentucky  town  that  is  not 
Lexington.  I made  no  defense.  I believed  it  would  be  bet- 
ter for  me,  and  for  my  views,  about  religion  and  liquor  to  be 
imprisoned.  The  witnesses  against  me  were  preachers  and 
distillers,  the  leader,  in  whose  name  the  prosecution  was  con- 
ducted, being  an  elder  and  leader  in  the  most  prominent  church 
in  the  town,  he  also  being  a wholesale  whisky  dealer.  I was 
fined  $ioo  and  sent  to  jail  for  two  months.  One  Methodist 
preacher  who  was  a Prohibitionist  gave  me  $75,  and  others 
gave  me  more  than  the  $roo  that  I had  been  fined.  I spent 
the  two  months  in  jail  only  nominally.  The  jailer’s  unmar- 
ried daughter,  a young  lady,  gave  up  her  own  beautiful  room 
to  me,  and  the  jailer  and  all  his  family  invited  my  wife  and  all 


218 


BEHIND  THE  BAHS ; 31498. 


my  family  to  come  and  be  their  gue.sts  as  long  as  I was  there, 
and  my  wife  spent  a part  of  every  week  with  me.  The  par- 
lor of  the  private  residence  of  the  jailer’s  family  was  put  at 
the  disposal  of  myself  and  my  friends,  and  I had  so  many 
callers,  including  preachers  and  saloon  keepers,  and  the  finest 
gentlemen  and  ladies  of  the  whole  country,  that  it  was  such  a 
tax  to  me  to  see  and  talk  to  them  all  that  I sometimes  had  to 
excuse  myself.  The  jailer  kept  a splendid  family  table  at 
which  I ate,  and  frequently  my  friends  with  me,  and  books, 
papers,  flowers,  fruits  and  delicacies  to  eat  were  sent  me  in 
great  abundance,  from  people  in  different  stations  of  life,  with 
their  compliments  and  expressions  of  sympathy  and  admira- 
tion. I had  a cell  in  the  jail  that  was  all  nicely  fitted  up  for 
me,  in  which,  or  in  the  private  rooms  of  the  jailer,  I could 
stay  at  any  time,  and  at  night,  during  the  delightful  weather, 
the  jailer’s  son  and  I would  take  long  walks  into  the  country. 
My  imprisonment  there  was  a continued  ovation  to  me,  as 
seems  likely  to  be  the  case  here,  from  ray  experience  so  far, 
which  is  less  than  a month  to  the  time  that  I am  now  writing. 

Before  the  time  came  for  me  to  go  home  from  that  jail  a 
livery  man  had  asked  the  privilege  of  sending  me  to  the  rail- 
way station  at  his  expense  and  I had  accepted  his  kind  offer, 
and  when  the  last  hour  of  my  imprisonment  came  there  was 
his  nice  carriage  for  me,  and  my  friends  to  bid  me  good-bye, 
and  other  friends  to  go  with  me  to  the  station.  Since  that 
time  a great  disgrace  has  befallen  the  family  of  the  preacher 
who  was  the  leader  in  my  prosecution.  At  the  same  time 
that  I was  put  in  jail  there,  there  was  for  a short  time  im- 
prisoned with  me  a gentleman  named  W.  T.  Ficklen,  of  Paris, 
Ky. , who  is  still  living.  He  was,  and  is,  a Prohibitionist. 
He  was  at  the  time  of  his  imprisonment  nearly  70  years  old, 
and  for  fifty  years  had  been  a member  of  the  church  that  im- 
prisoned him  and  me,  and  all  the  time  he  has  been  a most  ex- 
emplary citizen.  He  has  been  ever  since  then  an  agent  for 
my  paper  and  for  my  book,  “The  Rational  View,’’  and  will 
be  an  agent  for  this  book. 

I was  afterward  put  in  jail  in  Lexington,  charged  with 
blasphemy  against  the  Holy  Ghost.  I could  have  avoided 


BEHIND  THE  BABS,  31498. 


219 


going  to  jail  at  all,  by  simply  giving  bond  for  my  appearance 
at  the  next  term  of  the  court.  I refused  to  give  the  bond, 
though  I had  friends  who  begged  me  to  do  so,  and  I could 
have  given  bond,  in  one  hour,  for  a million  dollars,  but  to 
show  that  Christians  would,  to  this  day,  send  a man  to  prison 
for  blasphemy  against  the  Holy  Ghost,  the  leader  of  them 
being  a Methodist  preacher,  I went  to  jail  to  stay  there  for 
three  months,  until  the  next  term  of  the  court,  I having  been 
held  over  because  the  Commonwealth  was  not  ready.  The 
jailer  gave  me  a large  room  that  had  been  intended  for  inval- 
ids, in  a splendid  new  jail  that  had  just  cost  $80,000,  and 
Mrs.  E.  B.  Wrenn,  then  and  now  living  in  Eexington,  she 
and  her  husband  then  and  now  loved  by  as  many  people  as 
any  two  people  living  in  Lexington,  sent  me  by  their  servant, 
on  an  exquisite  table  service,  meals  that  were  as  fine  as  could 
be  made,  and  two  or  three  times  as  much  as  I wanted,  and 
when  I had  stayed  in  jail  just  long  enough  to  show  plainly  to 
the  world  that  the  church  will  imprison  a man  for  his  religious 
opinions  to-day,  if  it  had  the  power,  just  as  it  once  did  when 
it  had  unrestricted  power.  I gave  the  bond  and  came  out  of 
jail,  and  defended  myself  through  attorneys,  and  was  ac- 
quitted. I only  came  out  of  jail  because  I was  over-per- 
suaded by  my  friends,  and  afterward  rather  regretted  that  I 
did  not  let  the  Christians  imprison  me,  because  I thought  the 
effect  of  it  would  be  good  as  showing  the  persecuting  spirit  of 
Christians.  So  that  when  I came  to  be  tried  for  the  peniten- 
tiary I resisted  all  the  requests  of  m}'^  friends  to  employ  coun- 
sel to  defend  me,  because  I believed  that  it  would  be  ' for  the 
greatest  good  to  have  the  Christians  send  me  to  the  peniten- 
tiary, and  I still  believe,  now  that  I am  a prisoner,  that  I did 
the  right  thing,  and  am  glad  I did  just  as  I did.  I believed 
then,  as  I believe  now,  that  had  I kept  myself  from  convic- 
tion, the  Christians  would  have  claimed  that  they  did  not  in- 
tend actually  to  send  me  to  the  penitentiary,  but  it  is  seen 
now  they  did  intend  to  do  that,  and  from  a publication  of  an 
interview  with  all  the  prominent  priests  and  preachers  in  Lex- 
ington, that  while  none  of  them  regretted  my  imprisonment 
many  of  them  were  evidently  delighted  that  I had  been  im- 


220 


BEHIND  THE  BARS:  31498. 


prisoned.  Regarding  my  trial  I shall,  personally,  have  but 
little  to  say. 

Rev.  J.  W.  McGarvey,  President  of  the  theological  de- 
partment of  the  University  of  Kentucky,  as  reported  by  the 
newspapers  of  Lexington,  once  did  and  said  as  follows;  He 
walked  into  the  pulpit  of  the  Broadway  Christian — or  Camp- 
bellite — Church,  one  Sunday,  in  Lexington,  to  preach  a ser- 
mon which  it  had  been  announced  from  that  pulpit  and  by  the 
papers,  would  be  “to  men  only.’’  There  were  2,000  men 
present.  Rev.  McGarvey  took  into  the  pulpit  with  him  a 
copy  of  my  paper,  the  Blue  Grass  Blade,  and  reading  from  it 
based  his  sermon  upon  what  I had  said  in  that  issue  of  my 
paper.  During  his  sermon  he  said,  “Charley  Moore  has  said 
some  hard  things,  but  I have  never  caught  him  in  a lie.’’ 
When  he  said  that  he  was  applauded.  It  was  the  only  time 
that  I ever  heard  of  any  sermon  being  applauded  in  Lexington. 

When  I was  sent  to  jail,  soon  afterward,  the  Common- 
wealth’s attorney  who  prosecuted  me,  actually  made  the  point 
that  my  statements  were  all  the  more  libelous  because  they 
were  true,  and  I have  been  told  many  times  that  the  utter- 
ances of  my  paper  were  specially  dreaded  because  of  my  rep- 
utation for  telling  only  the  truth.  I have  been  four  times 
prosecuted  for  what  I have  said  in  my  paper.  I have  been  a 
juror  on  every  variety  of  jury  from  grand  jury  down  to  cor- 
oner’s, and  have  nearly  always  acted  as  foreman  of  the  juries 
upon  which  I was,  either  by  appointment  of  the  presiding 
judge  or  by  election  by  the  jiiry men.  Beside  this  I have,  as 
a reporter  for  newspapers,  been  present  at  the  trials  of  all 
sorts  of  criminals  known  to  our  courts,  and  I have  never  seen 
any  man  arraigned  before  any  court  that  was  treated  with  the 
injustice  and  discourtesy  that  was  shown  me  at  Cincinnati 
when  I was  convicted  and  sent  to  this  prison.  It  is  but  right 
and  fair  in  those  who  here  read  this  statement  to  remember 
that  in  this  case  I am  an  interested  witness,  and  t'o  make  what 
they  believe  to  be  a proper  allowance  for  my  possible,  or  prob' 
able,  prejudice  in  my  own  favor.  I will  leave  a report  of  the 
case  to  Dr.  J.  B.  Wilson,  of  Cincinnati,  who  was  present  at 
the  trial,  and  who  wrote  this  report  in  the  Blade  of  February 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


221 


26,  E.  M.  299,  when  I was  in  the  penitentiary.  I will  say 
about  him  that  he  is  in  no  way  in  the  world  related  to  me,  or 
identified  with  me  in  any  business  interest;  that  he  only  be- 
came acquainted  with  me  through  my  paper,  and  that  in  my 
best  judgment  he  is  moie  liable  to  be  damaged  financially 
than  benefited  by  any  friendship  shown  me.  In  Dr.  Wilson’s 
article  that  came  to  me  here  in  prison  here  in  my  paper,  it  is 
so  evident  that  he  is  not  prejudiced  in  my  favor,  that  it  seems 
to  me  he  says  things  that  are  unnecessarily  hard  on  me,  and 
almost  unjust  to  me.  His  report  of  the  trial,  headlines  and 
all,  is  as  follows: 

CHAS.  C.  MOORE 

SENTENCED  TO  THE  OHIO  STATE  PRISON  FOR  TWO  YEARS. — 
REPORT  OF  THE  TRIAD.  • 

It  was  a scene  which  few  men  men  have  opportunit}^  to 
observe  in  a life  time.  A white-haired  man,  whose  years  are 
few  at  best,  sitting  in  the  seat  of  Justice  sentencing  another 
man,  likewise  gray  with  age,  to  imprisonment  for  two  years, 
for  a few  trivial  words  sent  through  the  mails.  Words, 
which  to  the  students  of  sociology  or  to  any  liberally-minded 
man,  cannot  be  so  twisted  into  any  shape  as  to  render  them  in- 
decently offensive — words  which  some  of  the  best  lawyers  and 
judges  in  this  city  have  declared,  contain  no  particle  of 
obscenity.  The  naked  truth,  like  a nude  statue  morally 
impre.sss  men  differently.  It  shocks  and  shames  some,  and  to 
others  it  is  pure  and  beautiful. 

Men  differently  see  justice.  One  political  party  sees 
litlle  to  commend  in  the  judgments  of  another.  The  various 
religious  factions  hate  each  other.  The  various  constructions 
they  place  npon  meaningless  dogmas  have  led  them  to  mas- 
sacre, and  torture,  each  other.  There  is  in  reality  no  such 
thing  as  party  or  religious  justice.  Only  where  judgment 
ri.ses  above  party,  religion,  friendship,  and  kindred  even,  can 
mankind  look  for  justice?  It  is  for  this  reason  tliat  justice  is 
represented  as  blind. 

Wrilliam  Bunday  the  District  Attorney  and  Judge  Thomp- 


222 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498; 


son  who  prosecuted  and  sentenced  Mr.  Moore  may  honestly 
believe  that  they  have  performed  their  duty  and  rendered  a 
just  sentence,  in  depriving  Mr.  Moore  of  his  liberty,  taking 
him  from  his  family,  and  confining  him  in  the  penitentiary  for 
two  long  years.  As  I said  before  different  people  will  place 
different  constructions  upon  a statute  or  a dogma,  and  do  so 
both  naturally  and  honestly.  The  weight  of  a single  word  has 
thown  nations  into  violent  disputes,  both  sides  fighting  to  the 
death  in  support  of  their  ideas  of  justice. 

Religious  men  have  condemned  a dissenter  to  the  stake 
houe.stly  believing  that  justice  (?)  demands  that  there  shall  be 
no  difference  of  opinion  on  ghostly  subjects.  The  Puritans 
honestly  believed  that  justice  (?)  was  meted  out  to  the  man, 
who  was  sent  to  the  pillory  for  kissing  his  wife  on  a Sunday. 
Elizabeth  may  have  honestly  believed  that  her  sentence  of 
death  to  the  Queen  of  Scots  was  a just  deed;  but  it  is  recorded 
of  her  that  she  never  slept  well  thereafter. 

There  are  no  questions  which  involve  so  much  discussion 
as  the  sociological  questions  of  to-day.  These  questions  are 
only  in  a state  of  development.  What  seems  justice  to  one 
seems  persecution  to  another.  Take  the  divorce  question  for 
instance.  Some  of  our  religious  creeds  saj^  there  is  no  justice 
in  granting  a divorce;  for  what  God,  the  priest,  hath  joined 
together,  let  no  Judge,  the  mortal  presume  to  put  asunder. 

It  is  altogether  in  the  way  different  factions  are  taught  to 
view  these  things.  The  Catholic  teaches  that  it  is  immoral, 
lustful  and  lascivious  for  a divorced  person  to  re-marry.  The 
Protestant  teaches  that  it  is  both  moral  and  virtuous.  Both 
may  honestly  entertain  these  different  ideas  of  justice,  and 
both  may  be  honestly  right  in  some  cases  and  both  again  be 
honestly  wrong.  It  is  a question  which  involves  human 
affections,  and  never  was  the  man  born  so  wise  as  to  be  able 
to  comprehend  the  nature,  the  wants  and  happiness  of  the 
heart  of  another,  or  decide  the  laws  which  shall  govern  it. 

The  growing  evil  of  divorce,  the  marital  jealousy  and 
unfaithfulness  which  lead  to  murder,  suicide,  the  yearly  pros- 
titution of  hundreds  of  thousands  of  somebody’s  daughters, 
the  secret  abuses  of  youth,  the  venereal  and  other  diseases  that 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


223 


propagate  consumption  and  insanity,  the  dense  ignorance  of 
procreative  law,  which  incapacitates  three-fourths  of  mankind 
from  making  proper  marital  selection,  and  the  rapidly  spread- 
ing secret  vices  which  cannot  be  thought  of  without  a feeling 
of  shame,  surely  make  the  proper  knowledge  of  sex,  the  great- 
est moral  is.sue — the  most  vital  issue  in  this  country  to-day. 
Every  political  and  military  question  before  this  country  to- 
day is  a trifling  insignificance  beside  it.  The  holy  hush 
which  is  put  upon  the  sex  question  only  tends  to  vulgarize  it. 
It  is  better  to  have  a free  and  open  discussion  of  these  ques- 
tions, that  youth  may  be  enlightened,  and  directed  wisely, 
than  go  headlong  on  to  abandon  as  this  nation  is  surely  pro- 
gre.ssing.  People  will  have  different  ideas  as  to  what  is  just 
in  this  direction,  and  as  to  what  are  the  best  methods  of  at- 
tacking and  solving  social  evils.  Some  think  the  present  mat- 
rimonial arrangement  has  solved  it  as  nearly  as  it  can  be 
solved;  others  look  abroad  over  the  field  or  marital  infidelity, 
and  the  by-ways  of  divorce,  prostitution  and  vice  and  think  it 
has  not  solved  it.  One  thing  is  sure,  if  it  is  never  publicly  dis- 
cussed, it  will  never  be  any  better,  and  if  never  any  better,  it 
is  bound  to  grow  worse,  especially  as  this  nation  grows  in 
wealth;  for  it  is  the  history  of  all  nations  that  as  they  de- 
velop great  wealth,  they  progress  toward  abandon,  degeneracy 
and  racial  extinction. 

Mr.  Moore,  as  is  well  known  to  everybody  who  has  read 
the  Blue  Grass  Blade  for  these  many  years,  and  from  the  very 
start  of  its  publication,  published  it  as  an  Infidel-Prohibition 
journal — its  most  distinctive  feature  being  that  of  Prohibition. 
With  all  his  might  and  power  he  has  fought  to  protect  the 
American  home  and  the  American  youth  from  the  far-reach- 
ing evils  consequent  upon  the  use  of  liquor,  and  this,  too,  in 
a community  where  more  liquor  is  manufactured  than  a ay 
other  place  in  the  world.  He  has  dared  to  do  for  the  right 
that  which  no  other  man  in  his  community  would  openly  do, 
expose  the  hypocrites,  religious  and  political,  who  occupied 
high  places,  by  grace  and  permission  of  the  manufacturer  and 
retailer  of  whisky.  That  he  has  done  this,  many  times  at 
the  risk  of  his  life,  is  equally  well  known.  He  has  been  mob- 


224 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


bed  and  imprisoned  for  his  defense  of  “the  Americam  home.” 
He  has  again  been  prosecuted  and  imprisoned  and  published 
as  an  editor  of  a Frfee  Love  paper,  and  an  enemy  of  the 
American  home.  There  are  a million  or  more  people  in  this 
country  who  know  that  the  Blue  Grass  Blade  was  never  any- 
thing else  but  an  Infidel-Prohibition  paper,  and  that  Mr. 
Moore  is  not  a Free  Lover,  and  never  was  an  advocate  of 
Free  Love,  and  more  than  any  other  man  has  scathingly  de- 
nounced it.  Having  always  bitterly  opposed  Free  Love,  I do 
not  know  how  he  happened  to  insert  the  two  articles  upon 
which  he  w'as  indicted,  and  make  the  comments  he  did  upon 
them.  It  can  only  be  accounted  for  in  this  way:  Mr.  Moore 

believes  in  the  open  discussion  of  all  sociological  questions, 
especially  those  which  affect  the  morals  of  the  community. 
He  opened  his  columns  to  the  free  discussion  of  every  sub- 
ject which  seemed  to  him  a moral  or  vital  issue.  * Why  should 
any  paper  sub.sidize  a question  involving  a moral  issue? 

Mr.  Moore  is  a man  who  believes  that  truth  can  stand 
any  test,  and  that  the  best  compliment  we  can  pay  to  truth  is 
to  show  our  confidence  in  it.  He  is  not  a practical  man  in 
any  sense.  He  applies  policy  to  nothing  he  does.  He  is  so 
frank  and  open  in  his  manners  and  character  that  he  is  a 
mere  child  in  .some  of  the  practical  things  of  life.  Carlyle’ 
.says  that  “Caution  is  the  lower  story  of  prudence.’’  Mr. 
Moore  is  seemingly  devoid  of  that  faculty,  and  for  lack  of  it 
often  says  hasty,  thoughtless  and  imprudent  things.  He  has 
not  even  that  caution  essential  to  self-protection.  Then  he 
knew  the  law  and  should  have  been  cautious  enough  not  to 
have  approached  hs  limits.  He  knew  that  an  infidel  is  liable  to 
arrest  if  he  steps  out  of  Christian  latitude;  that 'superstition 
mu.st  have  a victim  occasionally;  and  the  better  the  man,  the 
more  he  is  wanted;  but  no  one  who  knows  Mr.  Moore  will  be- 
lieve he  would  intentionally  abu.se  the  privilege  of  .speech  or 
imstigate  an  immoral  thought.  His  whole  life  belies  such 
an  action.  It  was  the  religions  guerrilla’s  opportunity  and 
he  took  advantage  of  it.  When  a man  has  to  fight  enemies 
of  that  kind,  he  .should  adopt  like  tactics,  an<l  not  recklessly 
expose  himself  in  the  open! 


BEHIND  THE  BAR8  ; 31498, 


225 


Right  here  J.  J.  Rucker,  a professed  friend,  a subscriber 
for  years  of  the  Blade,  a co-worker  with  Mr.  Moore  along  the 
line  of  Prohibition,  comes  upon  the  scene.  Mr.  Moore  has 
requested  that  I should  report  the  prosecution  j ust  as  I wit- 
nessed it,  and  made  no  particular  suggestion  of  what  should 
be  said  whatever,  further  than  to  give  the  full  details  leading 
up  to  it.  “For  the  re.st,”  he  said,  “I  am  not  the  proper  one 
to  report  1113’  own  grievances.  It  would  not  be  received  with 
the  same  .spirit  as  if  told  b3’  some  one  else,  and  I leave  you 
untrammeled  to  pre.sent  it  as  3-011  choose.’’  The  readers  of 
the  Blade  are  acquainted  with  the  circumstances  which  have 
led  to  the  prosecution  and  impri.sonment  of  Mr.  Moore;  but 
for  those  who  are  not  I wall  enter  into  the  full  details,  at  the 
ri,sk  of  being  tedious.  I will  endeavor  to  report  accuratel3^ 
and  impartially,  and  while  my  S3’mpathies  are  with  Mr.  Moore, 
they  will  not  bias  m3-  judgment  wherein  I think  he  should  not 
be  spared. 

Prof.  Rucker,  a Christian  Prohibitionist,  of  Georgetown, 
Kentuck3',  and  Mr.  Moore  were  friends  of  long  standing  and 
co-workers  in  the  Prohibition  cause.  Rucker  patronized  the 
Blade  for  3-ears,  and  Moore  sent  his  .sons  to  the  college  pre- 
sided over  b3'  Rucker,  to  be  educated.  Prohibition  was  the 
tie  that  bound.  This  friend,ship  continued  for  some  years. 
As  it  has  been  stated  often  in  the  Blade,  Rucker  started  a 
rival  prohibition  sheet  called  “The  Temperance  Star.’ ’ It  is 
suppo.sed  by  Moore  and  a great  mau3-  others  that  Rucker 
thought  that  the  Prohibition  cau.se  was  not  presented  in  its 
best  light  a.ssociated  with  Infidelit3-;  and  if  Moore  could  suc- 
ce.ssfull3-  conduct  a paper  on  the  Infidel-Prohibition  plan,  he 
(Rucker)  would  startle  Kentuck3q  as  well  as  make  a lot  of 
mone3-,  by  editing  one  on  the  Christian-Prohibition  plan.  He 
failed.  His  paper  cut  .so  little  figure  that  people  living  within 
ten  miles  of  Georgetown  never  heard  of  its  existence.  At 
sometime  within  this  period,  Atherton,  the  Kentuck3-  dis- 
tiller, presented  $7,000  in  all  to  a church  in  which  Rucker 
was  an  official,  and  to  the  college  over  which  Rucker  presided. 
These  institutions  accepted  the  mone3^  without  protest.  Moore 
finding  this  out,  exposed  Rucker’s  hypocris3-.  Time  and 


226 


BEHIND  THE  BARS:  31498. 


again  he  held  this  act  of  Rucker’s  up  as  an  illustration  cf 
Christian  preten.sion  and  inconsi.stency.  This  is  Moore’s  side 
of  the  storj:.  If  it  is  not  true  Mr.  Rucker  has  had  a long 
time  in  which  to  obtain  legal  redre.ss.  It  is  to  this  exposition 
of  Prof.  Rucker’s  professed  Prohibition  and  to  religious  hate 
that  Mr.  Moore  attributes  the  revenge  sought  by  reporting 
the  Blade  to  the  Postal  inspectors  about  one  year  ago. 

The  postal  authorities  at  Washington  referred  the  matter 
to  the  District  Attorney  Harlan  Cleveland,  of  Cincinnati,  in 
which  city  the  Blade  was  publi.shed.  Cleveland  drew  up  the 
indictment,  and  in  the  meantime  was  superceded  as  District 
Attorney  by  William  Bundy,  who  pro.secuted  Moore  and 
Hughes.  Mr.  Bundy  is  a nephew  of  Senator  Foraker,  through 
whose  influence  he  secured  the  po.sition  of  District  Attorney. 
He  is  a young  man,  a successful  lawyer,  and  stands  high  in 
the  community.  Judge  Thompson  comes  from  Portsmouth, 
Ohio,  in  which  little  city  he  has  been  a successful  politician, 
having  represented  that  district  in  Congress  once  or  twice, 
and  held  minor  political  appointments.  Mr.  Moore  and  Mr. 
Hughes  stood  charged  in  the  indictment  with  having  mailed 
or  caused  to  be  mailed  “certain  lewd,  lascivious  and  indecent 
matter.’’  The  .statute  under  which  they  were  indicted  reads 
as  follows: 

“Section  333.  OBscene  matter. — “Ever}'  obscene,  lewd 
or  lasciviour  book,  pamphlet,  picture,  paper,  letter,  writing, 
print,  or  other  publication  of  an  indecent  character,  whether 
sealed  as  first-class  matter  or  not,  is  hereby  declared  as  non- 
mailable matter,  and  .shall  not  be  conveyed  in  the  mails,  nor 
delivered  from  any  post-office,  nor  by  any  letter  carrier;  and 
any  person  who  shall  knowingly  deposit  or  cau.se  to  be  de- 
posited for  mailing  or  delivery  anything  declared  by  this  sec- 
tion to  be  non-mailable  matter,  and  any  person  who  shall 
knowingly  take  the  same  or  cau.se  the  same  to  be  taken  from 
the  mails  for  the  purpose  of  circulating,  or  disposing  of,  or 
aiding  in  the  circulation  or  disposition  of  the  same,  shall  for 
each  and  ever}'  offense  be  fined  upon  conviction  thereof,  not 
more  than  $5,000  or  imprisoned  at  hard  labor  not  more  than 
five  years,  or  both,  at  the  di.scretion  of  the  Court.’’ 


i3EHIND  THE  BARS  ; 31498. 


227 


The  trial  began  with  the  reading  of  the  indictment,  and 
the  statute  covering  the  case.  Judge  Felaud,  of  Lawnence- 
burg,  Ky. , asked  the  court  for  a separate  trial,  stating  that  he 
had  been  engaged  as  counsel  for  Mr,  Hughes,  but  not  for  Mr. 
Moore.  This  situation  of  the  case  had  the  effect  of  obtain- 
ing a separate  trial,  which  was  protested  b}-  the  District  At- 
torney, but  reluctantly  granted  by  the  court.  Otherwise  Mr. 
Hughes  would  most  probabl}"  have  received  the  same  sen- 
tence as  Mr.  Moore.  The  Court  summoned  the  jury  and 
the  trial  of  Mr.  Moore  commenced.  Very  unwisely,  Mr. 
Moore  assumed  charge  of  his  case,  and  doing  so  verified  the 
old  adage  of  the  man  who  acts  in  the  capacit}^  of  his  own 
legal  advi.ser. 

The  first  witness  in  behalf  of  the  government  was  a man, 
the  daily  practice  of  whose  life  has  been  to  do  good  to  those 
who  hate  him;  to  do  as  he  would  be  done  b}’;  to  return  good 
for  evil;  to  turn  the  other  cheek  when  smitten;  in  fact  a man 
who  is  the  most  perfect  illustration  of  the  Christian  (?) 
gentleman  that  Kentuck}"  can  produce;  Prof.  J.  J.  Rucker,  of 
Georgetown,  the  shining  Prohibition  light,  the  man  of  strange 
bed-fellows,  Atherton,  Moore,  &c. 

Rucker  is  both  an  anatomical  and  facial  study — cavern- 
ous-faced, tall,  gaunt,  hollow-chested,  narrow,  as  perfect  a 
case  of  splenetic  and  debilitated  piety  as  ever  trod  the  halls 
of  justice,  When  he  ascended  the  steps  and  seated  himself 
in  the  witness  chair,  he  threw  his  long  bony  pedestals  into  a 
double  twist,  folded  his  arms  majesticalh’  and  assumed  the 
air  of  one  of  those  grand,  gloomy  and  peculiar  geniuses,  who 
are  given  to  the  habit  of  wrapping  themselves,  Napoleon  like, 
in  the  solitude  of  their  own  originalitj'.  His  whole  bearing 
seemed  to  say,  “Here  I am,  Mr.  Moore,  and  this  is  ni}'  in- 
ning.’’ Revenge,  which  is  always  the  weak  pleasure  of  a 
little  and  narrow  mind,  w*as  written  all  over  his  furrowed 
face.  There  is  no  passion  o^  the  human  heart  that  promises 
so  much  and  pa3’s  so  little  as  revenge.  It  is  at  first  .sweet, 
but  becomes  bitter  ere  long  and  recoils  back  on  itself.  Bacon 
better  explained  it  in  the.se  words,  “A  man  that  studieth  re- 
venge keepeth  his  own  wounds  green,  which  otherwise  would 
heal  and  do  well.’’ 


BEHIND  THE^BARS;  31498. 


L>L'« 

If  Prof.  Rucker  .sought  revenge,  he  is  now  ta.sting  its 
first  .sweets.  He  should  be  .sati.sfied.  He  took  advantage  of 
Mr.  Moore’s  weakne.ss  to  write  and  print  unguariled  thoughts, 
and  he  has  been  the  means  of  .sending  him  to  the  peniten- 
tiary for  two  long  years.  In  doing  this,  he  has  broken  up  a 
happy  home,  and  saddened  the  hearts  of  Mrs.  Moore  and 
others  who  never  did  him  wrong.  “Christian  charity  !’’  “Do 
unto  others  as  ye  would  have  others  do  unto  you  !’ ’ When 
he  .sits  around  his  comfortable  fire-side  at  night,  if  he  has  a 
comscience  above  an  adder,  he  will  think  of  the  fire-side  he 
has  made  de.solate,  and  the  sad  hearts  .that  sit  around  it.  If 
down  in  the  cold  storage  of  his  bleak  anatomy  there  be  a 
single  warm  spot,  when  he  reclines  on  his  comfortable  couch 
at  night,  the  vision  of  an  aged  pri.soner  .stretched  on  the  iron 
cot  of  his  narrow,  stony  cell  will  haunt  and  haunt  his  wan- 
dering thoughts.  But  such  a vision  may  po.ssibly  never  dis- 
turb his  dreahis.  The  grace  of  God,  which  aboundeth  .so 
fully  in  his  heart,  and  that  love  which  passeth  all  undenstand- 
ing,  may  give  him  such  perfect  peace,  as  will  enable  him  to 
sleep  well.  He  has  had  his  Christian  revenge — that  revenge 
which  the  Lord  claimed  as  his  own,  and  with  which  man 
should  not  repay. 

In  a .strange  contra.st,  let  me  de.scribe  another  scene. 
When  Mr.  Moore  was  led  from  the  court  room,  to  one  ad- 
joining, containing  a cell,  a number  of  friends  followed  to  ex- 
press their  sympathy  and  bid  him  farewell.  Fearing  that  his 
son,  Leland,  a manly  young  fellow,  was  nursing  revengeful 
thoughts,  he  said,  “Son,  I fear  you  are  meditating  revenge. 
Go  home,  and  take  no  further  action  in  the  case.  Whatever 
you  do,  I would  not  have  you  hurt  Prof.  Rucker  or  bring 
.sorrow  to  his  family.  If  you  would  plea.se  me  in  one  thing 
more  than  another,  observe  this  reque.st.  I would  rather  go 
to  pri.son  than  have  you  hurt  Prof.  Rucker.”  In  a moment 
like  this  a man’s  true  nature  comes  to  the  surface.  I have 
deviated  from  my  report  of  the  pro.secution  to  introduce  the 
Christian  and  the  Infidel,  in  the  light  of  revenge,  as  they  ap- 
pear in  this  trial. 

The  District  Attorney  upon  opening  the  trial  introduced 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


229 


Mr.  Moore  to  the  Judge’s  attention  as  a Free  Lover,  and  i 

editor  of  a Free  Love  paper.  Mr.  Moore  arose  to  object,  but 
was  called  down  by  the  court.  The  District  Attorney  ques- 
tioned Mr.  Rucker  as  to  receiving  certain  copies  of  the  Blue 
Grass  Blade  through  the  mail,  and  as  to  his  marking  certain 
items  in  the.se  particular  copies  and  forwarding  the  paper  to 
Washington.  Rucker  identified  the  paper  which  he  had  thus 
mailed  to  the  postal  department. 

Mr.  Moore  in  cross  examination  received  not  a .single  di- 
rect reply  to  a question  that  he  asked.  Rucker  was  quick  to 
see  that  the  charge  and  evidence  so  far,  proclaimed  Mr.  Moore 
the  advocate  and  publisher  of  a Free  Love  paper.  He  knew 
the  effect  this  would  have  on  a jury,  and  questioning  him  as 
closely  as  he  could,  Mr.  Moore  did  not  succeed  in  getting 
Rucker  to  state  the  principles  advocated,  and  known  all  over 
Kentucky  to  be  advocated  by  the  Blue  Grass  Blade.  The 
following  is  the  que.stioniug  in  part  : 

Moore — “How  long  have  you  been  a sub.scriber  to  the 
Blue  Grass  Blade?’’ 

Rucker — “Well,  for  a number  of  years.’’  • 

Moore — -“How  many  years?’’ 

Rucker — “Well,  I don’t  know  just  exactly.” 

Moore — “Did  you  take  it  when  it  wa.‘f  finst  published?’’ 

Rucker — “I  guess  I began  taking  it  about  that  time.” 

Moore — “How  long  ago  was  that?” 

Rucker — “Several  years  ago.” 

Moore — “Do  }'OU  not  distinctly  know  that  it  was  just 
thirteen  years  ago?” 

Rucker — “I  am  not  certain  of  the  date.” 

Moore — “Did  it  advocate  Free  Love  when  you  first  sub- 
.scribed  for  it?” 

Rucker — “I  cannot  .say.” 

Moore — “Have  you  read  it  closely  enough  to  know  what 
it  has  advocated?’  ’ 

Rucker — “I  cannot  say  that  I have?” 

Moore — “Have  you  read  it  as  cl  jsely  as  you  do  the  or- 
dinary newspapers?” 

Rucker — “Well,  yes,  at  times,” 


230 


BEHIND  THE  BARS,  31498. 


Moore — “And  you  don’t  know  the  principles  that  it  ad- 
vocates?’’ 

Rucker — “Well,  I have  noticed  that  it  advocates  a va- 
riet}’' of  things.’’ 

Moore — “Do  you  not  know,  as  well  as  you  know  you  are 
sitting  there,  that  my  paper  is  an  Infidel-Prohibition  paper, 
that  it  is  now  such,  has  always  been  such,  and  is  now  re- 
garded by  everybody  as  such?’’ 

To  this  Rucker  gave  some  evasive  reply,  and  Moore  again 
pinned  him  to  the  question.  The  Court  here  interfered  and 
protected  Rucker.  “But,  your  Honor.’’  .said  Mr.  Moore, 
“the  District  Attorney  charged  me  with  being  a Free  Lover, 
and  publisher  of  a Free  Love  paper.  It  is  false,  every  word 
of  it,  and  I want  to  prove  it  by  Prof.  Rucker  him.self,  who, 
if  he  tells  the  truth,  will  say  that  it  is  false.” 

Here  Moore  lost  his  head;  the  unfairness  exasperated 
him  and  his  address  to  the  Court  was  impertinent,  but  just 
and  natural  enough  under  the  circumstances.  The  Court  re- 
minded him  that  he  was  at  liberty  to  conduct  his  own  case, 
but  he  must  observe  the  usual  rules  of  propriety;  that  a fair 
trial  would  be  given  him,  and  there  was  no  inclination  on  the 
part  of  the  Court  to  pensecute  him.  Moore  asked  His  Honor 
if  he  would  again  ‘be  permitted  to  question  Prof.  Rucker. 
The  Court  replied  that  he  could  summon  him  if  he  wished. 
Later  on,  when  ,Mr.  Moore  asked  that  Prof.  Rucker  be  called 
to  the  stand,  it  was  found  that  Prof.  Rucker  had  drawn  his 
witness  fees  and  taken  his  departure  for  home.  Moore  .said, 
“Why,  Your  Honor,  you  told  me  that  I would  be  permitted 
to  question  him  again.”  “Well,”  said  His  Honor,  “I  guess 
he  has  gone  home.  You  ought  to  have — ” (the  rest  I did 
not  hear).  This  is  .some  of  the  guaranteed  “fairness. ” After 
that  Mr.  Moore  became  rattled  and  an  Indian  statue  in  front 
of  a cigar  store  could  have  put  up  almost  as  able  a defense; 
that  is  from  a legal  .standpoint. 

Here  was  a man  who  had  been  taking  the  Blade  mo.st  of 
the  time  for  thirteen  years  and  didn't  know  what  it  advocated. 
If  Rucker  ever  knew  much  of  anything  he  don’t  look  like  it. 
Maybe  when  he  is  called  to  the  witness  .stand  again  he’ll  know 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


231 


.something  about  it.  In  my  opinion,  the  worst  reflection  that 
can  be  cast  upon  Mr.  Moore  is  that  he  should  ever  have  had 
anything  to  do  with  a man  who  knows  .so  little. 

During  the  noon  recess,  I talked  to  the  District  Attorney, 
and  told  him  that  his  charge  that  the  Blue  Grass  Blade  is  a 
Free  Dove  paper  was  absolutely  false;  that  he  certainly  was 
misinformed;  that  he  could  not  afford  to  have  it  known  to 
the  thousands,  of  Diberals  in  this  city  that  he  had  misrepre- 
sented Mr.  Moore;  that  it  was  very  evident  that  he  would  suc- 
ceed in  convicting  Mr.  Moore  anyhow,  without  misrepresent- 
ing him  and  convicting  him  on  a false  charge;  that  it  looked 
to  me  that  it  was  the  Infidel  aimed  at. 

He  replied:  “If  it  is  not  a Free  Dove  paper,  I would 

like  to  know  what  you  call  it?’’  I answered,  “These  two  pa- 
pers you  have  in  your  possession  are  the  only  issues  ever  sent 
out  by  Mr,  Moore  which  contained  articles  on  Free  Dove,  ex- 
cept issues  in  which  he  had  scathingly  denounced  it,  and  to 
my  knowledge  no  man  in  the  country  had  more  forcibly  de- 
nounced it  than  Mr.  Moore.  I asked  him  if  he  considered 
the  Enquirer  a Christian  paper,  because  it  inserts  church  notes 
in  his  columns  every  week,  and  occasionally  prints  Talmage’s 
sermons,  or,  if  he  called  the  Times-Star  an  infidel  paper,  be- 
cause it  always  inserts  Ingersoll’s  lectures  when  he  appears 
here?’’  When  the  court  was  called  at  2 p.  m.,  Mr.  Bund}^  be- 
gan his  speech  by  stating  that  he  had  been  told  that  the  Blue 
Grass  Blade  was  not  a Free  Dove  paper,  that  he  did  not  want 
to  misrepresent  Mr.  Moore,  or  prosecute  any  man  for  his  pe- 
culiar beliefs,  but  if  those  two  copies  before  him  were  not 
Free  Dove  papers,  he  didn’t  know  what  to  call  them. 

It  is  thus  seen  that  he  started  out  .seemingly  to  correct 
the  charge,  but  in  the  end  made  it  more  forcible  than  ever. 
Some  more  “fairne.ss.’ ’ Then  he  read  the  passages  upon 
which  the  indictment  was  made,  and  called  attention  to  some 
other  articles  in  the  paper  upon  which  he  was  not  indicted. 
These  he  had  no  business  to  introduce,  for  they  were  not  per- 
tinent to  the  case.  If  Mr.  Moore  had  introduced  foreign 
matter  he  would  have  been  called  down  abruptly.  He  called 
the  jury’s  attention  to  the  first  article  in  the  paper,  in  which 


232 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  ; 31498. 


Mr.  Moore  discussed  some  atheistic  question,  and  said  the 
■‘paper  was  full  of  blasphemous  articles  like  that,  and  if  he 
was  not  mistaken,  he  (Moore)  could  be  indicted  for  blas- 
phemy as  well  as  Free  Rove.  It  was  a terrible  thing  for  Mr. 
Moore  to  “insinuate”  Free  Love  doctrines  in  his  paper,  but 
all  right  for  Mr.  Bundy  to  “insinuate”  the  crime  of  atheism 
and  blasphemy  against  Mr.  Moore,  in  his  speech  to  the  jury, 
when  Mr.  Moore  was  being  tried  only  for  Free  Love  state- 
ments. Some  more  “fairness.”  What  would  more  prejudice 
a Christiau  jury  against  a man  than  to  be  charged  with  athe- 
ism? Was  Mr.  Moore  on  trial  for  atheism?  Then  Mr.  Bundy 
launched  out  in  a .spread  eagle  speech  about  “the  American 
home,”  that  would  have  done  credit  to  Ben  Butterworth  in 
his  palmiest  days,  when  addressing  a country  political  meet- 
iug.  It  was  the  same  old  speech,  almost  word  for  word,  that 
I have  heard  McKinley,  Foraker,  and  a dozen  other  politicans 
give  when  addressing  the  hay-seed  audiences  I used  to  at- 
tend. He  told  how  the  statute  had  been  provided  for  just 
such  ca.ses  as  this,  to  protect  the  American  youth  and  the 
American  home  from  such  “vile,  la,scivious,  lewd  and  indecent 
stuff,”  as  charged  in  this  indictment. 

Mr.  Bundy  well  kuew,  and  I suksequently  told  him  so, 
that  the  mails  are  loaded  to  the  guards  with  the  Bible,  which 
contains  such  “vile,  lascivious,  lewd  and  indecent  stuff,”  that 
the  clerg}"  of  Michigan  and  other  States  are  havdng  this  “vile 
lascivious,  lewd  and  indecent  .stuff”  eliminated  for  an  abbre- 
viated Bible,  .so  it  will  be  fit  to  put  in  the  hands  of  school 
children;  that  this  abbreviated  Bible  is  for  the  purpose  of  con- 
cealing “the  vile,  lascivious,  lewd  and  indecent  stuff”  from 
the  pure  minds  of  childhood.  He  knows  that  this  book  coir- 
tains  among  its  grand  pages  a record  of  all  the  vile  practices 
of  primitive  times;  that  this  is  the  advocate  and  source  of 
polygani}',  that  it  contains  the  “nasty,  dirty,  lewd,  lascivious 
and  indecent”  songs  of  Solomon;  the  suggestive  amours  of 
David;  the  incest  of  Lot;  the  crime  of  Ouan,  and  what  not 
that  is  viciously  and  immorally  suggestive.  Fie  knows  that 
this  book  is  in  his  own  home,  and  in  nearly  every  “American 
home”  for  the  preservation  of  whose  morals  he  is  so  tenderly 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


233 


sensitive.  He  knows,  too,  that  the  commercial  press  sends 
through  the  mails  into  American  homes  all  the  dirt}"  rape, 
divorce  and  other  morbid,  suggestive  and  criminal  news  it  can 
rake  up;  and  that  man}"  of  them  contain  column  after  column 
of  plain  assignations,  and  that  these  papers  go  into  his  own 
home  and  into  the  hands  of  his  own  children, 

Mr.  Moore  has  not  been  very  choice  in  his  language;  but 
if  he  had  ever  printed  and  sent  through  the  mails  half  as 
dirty  stuff  as  is  contained  in  the  Bible  and  the  commercial 
press,  I would  not  be  losing  my  sleep  to  defend  him  to-night. 
I do  not  approve  of  Mr.  Moore’s  slangy  style  of  expression. 
I do  not  excuse  him.  Because  the  Bible  is  nasty  in  parts,  is 
no  reason  that  he  should  be  uncouth  in  some  instances  in  his 
paper.  All  the  more  shame  to  the  infidel  w"ho  fails  to  dignify 
and  exalt  speech.  He  is -supposed  to  have  progressed  beyond 
Bible  influence.  The  trouble  with  Moore  is  that  he  was  a 
preacher  once  and  has  never  gotten  out  of  the  rut. 

Mr.  Bundy’s  talk  about  the  American  home  was  pretty 
enough,  and  no  doubt  touched  the  right  .spot  in  the  jury’s 
hearts.  But  considering  the  passage  through  the  mails  of 
the  indecent  stuff  in  the  Bible,  and  the  columns  of  a.ssigna- 
tions,  sent  light  into  American  homes,  it  sounded  strangely 
inconsistent,  when  he  declared  that  the  law  provided  that 
statute  purposely  to  cover  such  ideas  as  those  for  which  Mr. 
Moore  .stood  indicted.  But  Bundy  had'  a duty  to  perform; 
and  that  was  to  send  an  old  man  on  the  down  grade  of  life 
to  the  peuitentiar}' — for  w'hat?  For  murder,  theft,  slander, 
burglary,  or  vice  of  any  kind?  No!  What  then?  Why  for 
sending  through  the  mails  a private  opinion  upon  a .social 
question  which  many  people  dispute  about — a question  that 
does  not  come  up  to  the  standard  of  Bible  purity  (?). 

Bundy,  like  Rucker,  went  about  his  duty  as  sy.stematic- 
- ally  as  determinedly.  He,  a young  man  of  health  and  prom- 
ise. To  me  it  was  a .strange  .sight  to  see  a youth,  almost,  bend- 
ing his  be.st  energies  to  imprison  a man  whose  years  are  few, 
for  a most  trifling  offense,  as  compared  to  some  which  are 
committed  against  the  postal  law,  and  wdiich  go  unnoticed 
day  by  day.  I could  not  have  done  it.  I doubt  if  Bundy 


234 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  ; 31498. 


sleeps  well  over  it.  I have  this  now  to  ask  of  every  friend  of 
Freethought: 

“What  has  the  gray-haired  prisoner  done? 

Has  murder  stained  his  hands  with  gore? 

Not  so  ; his  crime’s  a fouler  one.” 

He  is  an  infidel.  That  appears  to  be  Moore’s  chief  crime, 
all  the  way  from  Rucker  to  the  penitentiary.  That  was 
Paine’s  crime,  for  which  a nation  he  almost  created  has  con- 
demned him  to  hate  and  inifamy.  It  was  the  crime  of  Coper- 
nicus and  Galileo,  and  Vanini  and  Bruno  and  Servetus. 

I do  not  know  that  it  is  so,  but  from  my  close  observa- 
tion of  this  trial  I am  impressed  with  the  belief  that  it  was 
not  a fair  one,  but  had  the  object  in  view  of  suppressing 
Moore  by  confining  him.  Anyhow,  I believe  it  was  Rucker’s 
object.  Bundy,  in  one  sentence,  called  the  jury’s  attention 
to  Moore’s  atheism,  and  his  liability  to  indictment  for  blas- 
phemy, and  in  the  next  declared  “that  Mr.  Moore  was  not 
being  prosecuted  for  his  peculiar  beliefs.’’  Whether  this  was 
intentional  upon  the  part  of  Mr.  Bundy  or  not,  I do  not 
know.  But  I do  know  the  effect  that  such  an  “insinuation’’ 
will  have  upon  a Christian  jury,  and  I know  it  was  not  fair, 
and  I know  that  if  Moore  had  had  a capable  lawyer,  Bundy 
would  have  been  compelled  to  confine  himself  to  the  Free 
Love  indictment.  It  is  this,  along  with  some  other  things, 
that  impresses  me  as  I have  stated. 

Mr.  Moore’s  defense  in  reply  to  Mr.  Bundy’s  .speech  was 
was  about  as  weak  an  effort  as  a man  could  possibly  make. 
He  seemed  rattled  and  talked  incoherently,  and  more  about 
himself  than  the  indictment.  But  there  was  some  excuse  for 
this.  He  knew  he  was  going  to  be  .sent  to  prison.  At  the 
noon  recess  he  told  me  that  he  felt  it  in  the  Judge’s  counte- 
nance; and  that  the  accusation  of  publishing  a F'ree  Love 
paper,  which  he  felt  he  would  not  be  given  a chance  to  dis- 
prove, depressed  him  greatly.  What  with  the  puguaciousne.ss 
of  the  District  Attorney  and  a Christian  jury  to  face,  he  felt 
that  he  was  already  condemned.  He  began  to  realize  his  po- 
sition, and  thought  his  be,st  plan  was  to  appeal  to  the  jury, 
and  tell  them  about  himself  and  his  family,  and  impress  them 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


285 


if  he  could,  that  he  was  something  more  than  a Kentucky 
moonshiner  or  counterfeiter.  His  talk  excited  more  amuse- 
ment than  sympathy,  as  was  plainly  seen  in  the  faces  of  the 
jury.  The  Judge  leaned  his  head  upon  his  hand,  and  to  all 
appiearances  went  to  sleep.  Likewise,  a juryman  inclined  his 
head  and  appeared  to  be  asleep.  Moore  was  allowed  to  talk 
fifteen  minutes,  when  the  Judge  stopped  him  and  reminded 
him  that  he  was  not  talking  to  the  point,  and  asked  him  how 
much  time  he  expected.  Mr.  Moore  told  him  “that  he  had 
not  even  begun  }'et,  but  if  he  wanted  to  stop  him  at  any  time 
just  to  say  the  word  and  he  would  quit.”  “All  right,”  said 
the  Judge,  “I  will  take  you  at  your  word,  and  tell  you  when 
you  have  exhausted  your  time.” 

Mr.  Moore  took  up  his  paper  which  contained  the  lan- 
guage ,so  offen,sive  to  Rucker’s  pious  optics,  and,  beginning 
with  the  first  article,  attempted  to  show  that  his  paper  was 
not  a Free  Love  paper,  but  that  it  was  an  Infidel-Prohibition 
paper.  He  took  up  each  article  separately,  read  the  headings, 
and  commented  on  the  matter  discussed,  doing  his  best  in  his 
feeble  ahd  choked  up  way  to  prove  to  the  jury,  none  of  whom 
knew  anything  about  his  paper,  that  it  was  not  a Free  Love 
journal.  Why  should  not  a man  have  the  right  and  be 
granted  the  time  to  di.sprove  a false  charge  against  him? 

The  Court  permitted  him  to  talk  fifteen  minutes,  and  ab- 
ruptly told  him  that  his  time  was  up,  and  to  sit  down.  He 
then  charged  the  jury,  and  .sent  them  off  to  the  jury-room. 
It  only  required  five  minutes  for  them  to  declare  a verdict  of 
guilty. 

I have  this  now  to  say  about  Mr.  Moore’s  trial.  I have 
been  in  the  Police  Court  in  this  city,  where  a thief,  with  only 
only  a thirty  days’  workhouse  sentence  confronting  him,  was 
given  more  respectful  consideration  than  was  given  Mr.  Moore 
in  this  trial.  I have  seen  old  bums  tried  for  loitering,  and 
their  rambling  tales  told,  without  the  Judge  resting  his  head 
as  inclined  to  sleep,  or  to  expre.ss  his  wearine.ss. 

I have  attended  trials  where  a man  was  being  tried  for 
sheep  stealing,  trials  lasting  more  than  a week — yes,  for  weeks 
^at  a time — with  the  examination  of  many  witnesses  to  go 


236 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


through  with,  and  lawyers  spending  a half  a*  day  at  a time  in 
a single  speech,  but  Mr.  Moore  was  allowed  a little  pitiful 
thirty  minutes  to  go  over  a defense  which  involved  a far- 
reaching  and  critical  examination,  which  required  the  most 
delicate  handling  before  a jury,  w'hich,  from  appearance,  would 
be  .slow  in  comprehension  of  an  analytical  subject  of  any  kind. 
When  time  was  called  on  Mr.  Moore,  he  had  come  to  himself 
and  was  presenting  a good  argument. 

Mr.  Moore  did  not  summon  a single  wdtness,  while  he 
might  have  had  fifty  if  he  had  so  chosen.  Since  he  occupied 
no  time  in  his  defense  by  the  examination  of  witnes.ses,  it 
looks  as  though  he  ought,  at  least,  to  have  had  a reasonable 
amount  of  time  generally  occupied  in  taking  testimon3^ 

Whether  Mr.  Moore  presented  his  case  in  a rustic  manner 
or  not  ; whether  he  wms  a little  uncouth  in  oUserving  the  dig- 
nified proprieties  of  a United  States  Court,  still  he  is  an  Amer- 
ican citizen,  and  without  witnesses,  and  a Christian  jury  to 
face,  his  very  w^eakness  should  have  been  his  defen.se.  He 
was  acting  as  his  own  lawyer,  and  he  had  a right  to  tell  it  in 
his  own  wajq  and  a right  to  the  time  to  tell  it — that  is,  if  free 
speech  and  the  right  of  defense  are  still  one  of  the  guarantees 
of  American  citizen.ship. 

When  the  jury’s  verdict  of  “guilty”  was  handed  in,  the 
Di.strict  Attorney  asked  for  .sentence  at  once.  The  Judge  said 
he  wanted  .some  time  to  consider  it,  and  would  give  it  at  ten 
o’clock  the  next  morning,  at  which  time  Moore  and  Hughes 
were  called  before  His  Honor.  In  passing  .sentence  the  Judge 
said:  “Mr.  Moore,  I am  inclined  to  be  more  lenient  with 
you  than  you  deserve.  You  knew  the  law,  \’OU  had  been 
warned  that  you  were  violating  it,  you  continued  to  violate 
it,  and  you  still  boast  of  it.”  “Yes,”  .said  Mr.  Moore,  “I  am 
proud  of  everything  I have  done.’ ’ “WeU,  then,  I will  not 
give  3mu  half  of  what  3'ou  ought  to  have.  Your  .sentence  is 
that  you  will  be  confined  in  the  Ohio  Penitentiary  for  two 
3'ears,  and  stand  charged  with  the  cost  of  indictment  until  it 
be  paid.”  This  is  the  sentence  as  near  as  I can  remember  it. 
I am  writing  this  report  entirely  from  memory,  as  I took  no 
notes. 


237 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 

I had  expected  Mr.  Moore  to  receive  a stiff  fine,  but  I 
was  not  prepared  for  a sentence  like  that.  And  when  that 
sentence  fell  from  the  Judge’s  lips,  I .said  to  myself,  “Verily 
there  is  no  more  mercy  in  the  hearts  of  some  men  than  there 
is  milk  in  a male  tiger.’’ 

Previous  to  this  sentence  Mr.  Moore  was  asked  if  he  had 
anything  to  say  why  sentence  should  not  be  passed  upon  him. 
He  said  he  had,  and  was  told  to  take  oath.  “Your  Honor,’’ 
he  .said,  “I  have  some  .scruples  about  taking  oath  as  it  is  gen- 
erall}^  given.’’  Here  he  was  interrupted  by  the  Judge,  .say- 
ing, “I  don’t  want  any  more  trifling  here.’’  “Well,”  .said 
Mr.  Moore,  “I  don’t  believe  in  a God,  and  will  not  take  the 
oath  ; I wi.sh  to  affirm.”  “Affirm  him!”  said  the  Judge,  im- 
patiently 

Then  Mr.  Moore  said  that  he  had  been  indicted  and  pros- 
ecuted on  a false  charge,  that  he  was  neither  a Free  Lover, 
nor  the  editor  of  a Free  Love  paper  ; but  since  he  had  been  de- 
clared guilty,  he  appealed  to  the  Court’s  mercy,  saying  that  a 
heavy  fine  would  bankrupt  his  family,  that  his  farm  was  mort- 
gaged for  $5,000,  which  was  one-third  of  its  valuation  ; that 
he  neither  raised  race  horses,  nor  corn  for  whisky,  and  a farm- 
er in  his  part  of  the  country  who  di.scarded  these  markets,  had 
a hard  time  to  get  along.  “Above  all,”  said  he,  “I  want  to 
take  all  the  responsibility  of  this  case  upon  my  shoulders. 
Whatever  fine  or  imprisonment  is  to  be  meted  out,  let  it  fall 
upon  me,  and  not  upon  Mr.  Hughes.  I want  him  to  go  back 
home  to-night  to  his  wife  and  baby.” 

Then,  to  the  consternation  of  all  the  Liberals  pre.sent,  as 
well  as  to  many  others,  the  awful  sentence  of  imprisonment 
for  two  years  was  given.  Mr.  Hughes  was  then  fined  $25.00 
and  co.sts,  amounting  to  $76.00.  It  was  the  quiet,  skillful 
work  of  Judge  Feland,  and  fine  legal  tactics,  that  saved 
Hughes.  If  Mr.  Moore  had  employed  Judge  Feland,  who 
had  studied  the  case  and  came  prepared  for  it,  this  defense 
would  have  been  at  least  presented  with  dignity  and  ability, 
even  if  he  did  not  escape  imprisonment.  Brrt  every  Liberal 
present  believes  that  it  is  doubtful  whether  legal  talent  would 
have  greatly  mitigated  the  sentence. 


238 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


After  the  trial  was  over  a lawyer  present  .stepped  up  to 
me  and  .said,  “Men  will  fight  and  die  for  liberty,  and  then  put 
men  into  office  who  will  rob  them  of  it.” 

I left  the  court-room  and  followed  Mr.  Bund-}’  to  his  office, 
five  or  six  doors  awaj".  While  sitting  in  the  waiting-room  an- 
other lawyer,  whom  I had  seen  in  the  court-room  all  the  morn- 
ing, stepped  to  the  telephone  and  communicated  with  some  one 
about  the  Moore  trial.  He  said,  ‘‘It  is  the  most  outrageous 
sentence  ever  given  in  that  court-room.” 

I waited  till  I got  opportunity  to  see  Mr.  Bundy,  and  told 
him  that  the  sentence  imposed  was  cruel,  and  that  I intended 
to  appeal,  and  wanted  to  know  what  time  I had,  and  what 
would  be  the  bond.  He  replied  that  he  ‘‘did  not  think  that 
Judge  Thompson  would  grant  an  appeal  ; that  it  lay  entirely 
with  the  Judge  to  fix  the  bond  ; that  Moore  had  gotten  a fair 
trial,  and  that  he  came  off  easy,  as  the  Chicago  Record  man 
was  impri.soned  two  years  for  a much  less  offen.se.”  From  this 
I judge  a precedent  had  been  looked  up,  and  confirms  my  im- 
pression that  he  was  doomed  to  impri.sonment  from  the  start. 
I asked  what  steps  I should  take  in  making  an  appeal.  He 
said,  ‘‘I  advise  you  to  get  a lawyer,  and  you  can  only  get  an 
appeal  on  a Writ  of  Krror  granted  by  Judge  Thompson,  but  I 
don’t  think  it  will  do  any  good.” 

“All  right,”  said  I,  “111  get  the  lawyer,  and  there  is 
plenty  of  error  to  appeal  from.  All  I want  is  the  time  to 
make  it,  and  .secure  bondsmen.” 

I sent  Clark  and  Kaplun  and  other  members  of  the  Ohio 
Liberal  Society  out  to  communica?te  with  other  influential  Lib- 
erals, while  I went  to  .see  a legal  adviser.  Judge  Feland  unfor- 
tunately having  gone  home  the  night  before.  I returned  in 
one  hour  and  found  that  Moore  had  been  handcuffed  and  hus- 
tled off  to  Columbus  just  thirty  minutes  after  I left  Bundy’s 
office.  Whether  the  ha.ste  to  get  him  away  was  due  to  the 
prospective  appeal,  I do  not  know.  I would  not  do  Mr.  Bundy 
the  inju.stice  to  insinuate  it.  This  case  was  a legacy  to  him 
from  his  predecessor  in  office.  As  District  Attorney  it  was  his 
duty  to  prosecute  it.  If  he  did  so  conscientiously,  he  but  per- 
formed his  duty. 


BEHIND  THE  BAES ; 31498. 


239 


As  to  the  injustice  of  his  methods,  and  the  justice  of  the 
sentence,  that  is  another  thing,  and  this  is  what  I want  to  call 
to  the  attention  of  Liberals  throughout  the  country. 

In  justice  to  the  Court,  I will  sa3’  that  Mr.  Moore  was  of- 
fered the  services  of  a lawyer,  which  he  refused,  and  if  he  had 
argued  more  to  the  point  in  the  beginning,  T am  satisfied  the 
Court  would  have  given  him  more  time.  I want  to  sa.y,  too, 
that  Mr.  Moore  has  verj’  few  friends  among  the  Liberals  in 
this  city.  He  has  lambasted  them  as  much  as  ever  he  did 
Rucker,  and  alienated  most  of  them,  and  they  do  not  regard 
him  as  a representative  Freethought  propagandist.  Whatever 
action  the}"  ma}-  take  in  this  case,  then,  cannot  be  regarded  as 
due  to  personal  attachment  to  Mr.  Moore.  The  principle  in- 
volved is  more  to  them  than  the  man.  The  Ohio  Liberal  So- 
ciety has  already  entered  an  appeal,  and  intends  to  fight  the 
case.  As  this  Society  is  not  particular!}'  friendly  to  Mr. 
Moore,  and  as  it  is  here  on  the  ground,  the  Freethinkers 
throughout  the  country  can  trust  to  its  actions  and  believe 
that  its  condemnation  of  this  sentence  merits  the  help  and  as- 
sistance of  every  organized  Society  and  individual  Liberalist. 
For  myself,  I say  that  Mr.  Moore  deserr'es  censure.  He  had 
been  warned  by  Mr.  Betts,  the  Postofiice  Inspector,  but  did 
not  heed  it,  and  thus  exposed  himself  to  prosecution. 

He  had  been  appealed  to  by  his  best  friends,  and  time  and 
again  rebuked  by  his  subscribers  for  u.sing  language  nei- 
ther dignified  nor  refined.  But  he  is  imprisoned  under  a 
false  charge.  The  language  upon  which  he  was  indicted  was 
neither  “lewd,”  “obscene,”  nor  “lascivious,”  as  charged  by 
the  District  Attorney.  In  fact,  the  words  themselves  are  as 
chaste  as  a paragraph  from  Addison.  The  sub.stance  of  the 
speech  is  all  that  can  be  called  into  question,  whether  or  not 
it  is  of  an  “indecent  character.  ” You  will  notice,  if  you  re- 
fer back  to  the  statute  previously  quoted,  that  an  offense  of 
this  kind  involves  the  use  of  words  and  language  w'hich  are 
“obscene,  lewd,  lascivious,  or  of  indecent  character.  ” If  Mr. 
Moore’s  language,  for  which  he  was  indicted,  was  all  of  these, 
his  sentence  was  just  under  the  law.  But  it  was  certainly 
neither  of  the  first  three,  and  as  to  being  of  an  ‘ ‘indecent  char- 


240 


BEHIND  4 HE  BABS;  3i498, 


acter,”  that  is  a debatable  question.  Is  an  opinion,  clothed  in 
chaste  words,  expre.s,sed  of  any  of  the  natural  appetites,  re- 
garded by  the  law  as  indecent?  That  is  the  question.  If  not, 
Mr.  Moore  is  a wrongly-imprisoned  man,  and  the  charge 
against  him  is  as  false  as  the  statement  that  he  is  a Free  Tover 
and  editor  of  a Free  Love  paper.  I understand  it  was  decided 
by  the  Superior  Court  of  Illinois  that  the  public  discussion  of 
love,  free  or  otherwi.se,  is  not  “indecent.” 

Mr.  Bundy  dwelt  largely  upon  the  “suggestiveness”  of 
Mr.  Moore’s  language,  saying  that  “it  .sugge.sted  indi.scrimi- 
nate  relation  of  the  .sexes,  and  therefore  damnable,  lewd  and 
indecent.”  What  is  “.suggestion”?  “To  the  pure  all  things 
are  pure.”  “Evil  to  him  who  evil  thinks.”  Where  does  the 
law  draw  the  line  at  “suggestion”?  Marriage  itself  is  oul}^ 
legalized  .sexualitjq  and  why  ma}^  not  the  “suggestion”  of 
marriage  itself  incline  to  the  thought  of  lasciviou.sness?  Why 
may  not  the  discussion  of  love  after  marriage  be  as  “.suggest- 
ive of  indeceuc}^”  as  before  marriage? 

When  clo.sely  analyzed,  as  between  Bundy’s  speech  and 
Moore’s,  it  is  hard  to  tell  which  one  is  to  be  pitied  most  for  its 
weakne.ss.  Moore’s  was  incoherent,  and  Bundy’s  puerile  and 
merel}'  a.ssertive.  It  proved  nothing.  Mr,  Moore,  in  his  de- 
fen.se,  was  not  allowed  the  time  to  define,  weigh  and  analyze 
the  words  which  are  charged  to  be  obscene.  When  ordered 
to  stop  b3"  the  Court,  he  was  making  what  I thought  was  a 
very  good  argument.  He  was  endeavoring  to  prove  to  the 
jur^^  b}"  showing  them  the  contents  of  the  paper,  that  it  was 
not  a “Free  Love”  journal.  It  was  a new  thing  to  me,  to  see 
a man  on  trial,  with  his  libert}"  involved,  called  down  while  he 
was  making  his  best  point  to  prove  his  innocence.  Suppose 
he  had  been  indicted  for  advocating  a Christian  principle  such 
as  Paul  advocated — that  “it  is  best  for  a man  not  to  marry  at 
all.”  Is  there  au3^thiug  more  offensive  to  our  marriage  laws 
than  that?  Can  anything  be  more  “.suggestive”  of  Free  Love 
than  that? 

The  Ohio  Liberal  Societ3’  intends  to  carry  this  question 
to  the  Supreme  Court  and  test  it.  The  question,  more  than 
the  man,  it  thinks  vital.  It  involves  free  .speech  and  a fair 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


241 


trial.  It  concerns  every  Agnostic,  Atheist,  Deist,  Socialist, 
Spiritualist,  Materiali.st,  and  Freethinker  of  every  description 
in  this  country.  If  this  Comstock  law  is  to  be  pushed  with 
.such  vigor  as  to  send  men  to  the  penitentiary  for  mailing 
such  language  as  Mr.  Moore  used,  it  must  also  be  applied  as 
vigorously  in  other  directions.  We  demand  fair  pla}^  Obscen- 
ity, lasciviousness  and  suggestiveness  in  the  Bible  are  ranker 
in  quality  than  any  that  ever  appeared  in  the  Blue  Grass 
Blade,  or  in  most  any  other  print  for  that  matter.  We  want 
to  know  if  this  Comstock  law  is  made  for  the  infidel  and  not 
for  the  preacher.  We  want  to  know  just  what  and  who  it 
covers.  We  want  to  know  and  have  it  settled  whether  sacred 
vulgarity  has  privilege  before,  the  law  that  is  not  to  be  granted 
to  the  plain,  ordinary  kind.  We  want  to  know  if  the  infidel 
has  the  right  to  a fair  trial.  Infidels  furnished  the  hands  and 
the  brains  and  the  money  when  the  foundations  of  this  coun- 
try were  laid.  The  whole  Republican  principles  of  govern- 
ment as  adopted  were  the  outgrowth  of  the  teachings  of 
Thomas  Paine,  an  infidel.  Jefferson,  an  infidel,  wrote  its 
Declaration  of  Independence,  Girard,  an  infidel,  supplied  its 
treasury,  and  Washington,  an  infidel,  fought  its  battles. 
Christianity  is  essentially  monarchical.  It  never  had  any 
idea  of  government  above  the  aristocratic.  It  has  a king  at 
its  head.  It  expects  to  live  in  a kingdom  in  the  world  to 
come,  where  Rucker  and  all  the  rest  will  wear  crowns. 

The  principles  of  this  government  were  not  conceived  in 
the  head  of  a Bishop.  They  were  conceived  in  the  head,  the 
glorious  head,  of  Thomas  Paine.  Freethought  is  the  child  of 
that  conception.  It  wants  now,  to  know  whether  it  has  any 
rights  of  that  inheritance  in  this  countr}^;  whether  it  is  to  be 
brow-beaten  in  our  courts;  whether  it  is  to  be  made  a foot-ball 
of  for  pious  pastime. 

We  do  not  propose  to  make  a martyr  of  Mr.  Moore.  If 
he  inclines  to  pose  as  such,  he  will  lose  the  respect  of  his 
friends.  It  is  charged  bj^  the  District  Attorney,  the  news- 
papers and  his  enemies  that  Mr.  Moore  is  assuming  a martyr’s 
role.  While  he  exhibited  a foolish  egotism  in  choosing  to  act 
as  his  own  lawyer,  I will  say  that  his  actions  before  the  Court, 


24-2 


BEHIND  THE  BABS,  31498. 


his  manner  and  emotions,  and  his  child-like  appeal  to  the 
jury  and  to  the  Jndge  for  clemency,  all  evinced  a desire  to  es- 
cape punishment.  He  showed  an  eagerness  to  put  the  legality 
of  free  speech  to  the  test,  and  this  eagerne,ss,  I think,  was 
construed  by  the  Court  to  be  an  insolence  and  a desire  to  po.se 
as  a per.secuted  individual.  Mr.  Moore  has  always  been  a 
man  who  has  been  willing  to  put  his  principles  to  a legal  test, 
no  matter  what  personal  sacrifices  he  might  be  called  upon  to 
make.  Many  of  his  friends,  as  well  as  his  enemies,  have 
thought  that  he  courted  imprisoument  for  notoriety.  I am 
led  to  believe  b}^  his  actions  in  this  trial,  and  by  my  conver- 
sations with  him,  that  in  this  case  this  was  a mistake.  But 
when  it  comes  to  making  a legal  test  of  free  speech,  he  has 
always  been  on  hand.  Considering  the  hundreds  of  thou,  ands 
of  Freethinkers  who  cowardly  remain  under  cover,  for  myself 
I respect  the  one  man  who  is  brave  enough,  reckless  enough 
if  you  will,  to  charge  down  the  front  line  of  battle,  even  if 
he  has  no  other  object  in  view  than  notoriety.  The  front  is 
the  most  respectable  place  for  a man  to  go  down.  This  fight 
is  on  and  must  be  settled  in  the  courts.  It  may  as  well  be 
settled  right  now.  I ask  the  liberals  of  this  country  if  it 
isn’t  about  time  that  men  should  cease  being  sent  to  the  peni- 
tentiary for  their  free  opinions  and  open  assertions  upon  dog- 
matic theology.  If  it  isn’t  about  time  that  a man  can  ex- 
press his  views  about  one  of  the  human  emotions  without  be- 
ing deprived  of  his  liberty. 

The  Ohio  Liberal  Societ}^  has  employed  the  law  firm  of 
Phares  & Keller,  of  Cincinnati,  to  test  the  case.  It  has  al- 
ready put  up  $100.00.  It  will  probably  cost  two  or  three 
times  that  amount,  and  maybe  more,  to  carr3^  the  case  to  a 
Superior  Court.  It  needs  this  extra  amount  and  doubts  not 
that  it  will  be  forthcoming.  The  treasurer  of  the  Ohio  Lib- 
eral Societ}'-,  J.  C.  Wilms,  Northwest  corner  Fighth  and  Vine, 
will  receive  contributions. 

I call  upon  the  Liberal  organizations  and  all  Liberal  pa- 
pers of  this  country  to  rise  itp  as  one  in  protest  that  will  be 
heard  and  felt.  Christianity  when  passive  and  tolerant  is  do- 
cile enough,  and  develops  many  of  the  humane  instincts.  But 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


243 


let  it  feel  the  intoxication  of  power,  and  it  develops  at  once 
the  brutal  instincts  which  inbred  superstition  always  excites. 
Many  people  in  this  country  think  an  Atheist  or  Agnostic  has 
no  right  to  citizenship  whatever.  L,et  cases  like  Mr.  Moore’s 
go  unchallenged,  and  it  is  only  a question  of  time  until  the 
Agnostic,  if  he  dares  express  himself,  will  follow  him. 

Back  in  the  days  of  Bloody  Mary,  the  Catholic  savages 
of  England  killed  off  the  Protestant  savages  by  thousands. 
In  course  of  time  it  came  the  Protestant’ s turn,  and  Catholic 
property  was  confiscated,  and  every  offensive  Catholic  prie.st 
executed.  Down  in  Cornwall,  a mining  region,  was  a priest  b}- 
the  name  of  Trelawny,  who  was  much  beloved  by  the  miners, 
and  who  was  ordered  to  be  taken  and  executed.  His  people 
flocked  around  him  and  the  local  authorities  found  that  he 
could  not  be  taken.  The  King  found  it  necessary  to  send  an 
army  down  there.  About  thirty  thousand  of  the  rough  min- 
ers gathered  together  as  one  man,  and  with  nothing  but  their 
picks  and  such  rude  instruments  as  they  could  quickly  manu- 
facture, defied  the  King’s  army.  As  they  marched  in  proces- 
sion, they  sang  this  verse: 

“And  shall  Trelawny  die? 

And  shall  Trelawny  die? 

When  thirty  thousand  Cornishinen 
Will  know  the  reason  why?” 

Their  determined  opposition  dissuaded  the  King  from 
making  any  further  effort  to  get  Trelawny.  The  stubborn 
protest  of  Freethinkers  will  arouse  a sentiment  that  will  like- 
wise have  its  effect. 

Will  the  Eiberals  of  this  country  allow  Mr.  Moore  to  lie 
in  the  Ohio  penitentiary  for  two  years,  without  rising  up  as 
one  man  and  asking  “the  reason  why?’’ 

J.  B.  WiqsoN,  M.  D. 


The  Eexington  Standard,  edited  by  a Negro,  in  the  inter- 
est of  Negroes,  printed  the  following: 


244 


BEHIND  THE  BAES;  31498. 

A PETITION  TO  THE  PREvSIDENT 


OF  THE  UNITED  STATES  ASKING  FOR  THE  PARDON  OF 
C.  C.  MOORE  FROM  THE  OHIO  PENITENTIARY. 

Tlie  Blue  Grass  Blade  came  back  at  ns  rather  savagely  last  week 
in  reply  to  onr  little  squib  regarding  Editor  C.  C.  Mooi’e’s  probable 
incarceration  by  the  Federal  Courts  for  the  offense  charged  against 
him  of  misusing  the  mails.  The  fact  is,  what  we  said  was  merely  in 
a Pickwickian  sense— in  the  usual  spirit  of  editorial  picket-firing. 
We  felt  no  animus  toward  Editor  IMoore,  and  have  none  now.  On 
the  contrary,  we  deeply  sympathize  with  him  in  his  present  misfor- 
tune, feeling  that  he  has  been  unjustly  incarcerated. 

We  appreciate  the  moral  courage  and  integrity  of  the  man  who, 
in  ante-bellum  days,  could  stand  up  and  denounce  slavery  as  wrong. 
Such  men  belong  to  the  class  of  true  friends  of  the  Negro  race.  We 
appreciate  all  the  good  qualities  that  shine  like  stars  through  and 
from  behind  Editor  Moore’s  eccentricities.  We  believe  him  to  be 
strictly  honest  and  courageous  in  all  that  he  advocates,  and  do  not 
feel  like  joining  in  with  the  ju'eachei’s  and  professors  of  religion  who 
are  crying,  “Crucify  him.” 

To  show  that  we  are  in  earnest  in  the  matter,  we  start  a petition 
for  the  pardon  of  Editor  IMoore,  beginning  the  list  with  our  signa- 
ture, and  we  ask  every  Negro  in  Kentucky  to  sign  it.  We  have  no 
doubt  that  we  will  get  more  than  a thousand  names.  To  insure  bona 
Me  signatures  we  shall  canvass  the  State  in  person  while  traveling  in 
the  interest  of  The  Standard,  and  by  correspondence  through  the  me- 
dium of  friends,  giving  the  movement  our  unqualified  editorial  en- 
dorsement until  success  is  attained,  and  our  white  brother  of  the 
press  breathes  the  pure  air  of  freedom  again.  The  following  is  the 
form  of  the  petition  we  shall  circulate : 


To  Wdliam  McKinley,  President  of  the  United  Staten  : 

Your  E.xcellencv — Charles  Chilton  Moore,  of  Lexington,  Ken- 
tucky, editor  of  the  Blue  Grass  Blade,  formerly  published  in  Cincin- 
nati, having  been  indicted  by  a Federal  Grand  Jury,  charged  with 
sending  obscene  matter  through  the  mails,  upon  which  charge  the 
said  Charles  Chilton  Moore  was  tried  in  the  said  city  of  Cincinnati 
and  sentenced  to  two  years’  imprisonment  in  the  Ohio  penitentiary  ; 
now,  therefore, 

We,  the  undersigned,  Negro  citizens  of  Kentucky,  petition  Your 
Excellency  to  pardon  Charles  Chilton  Moore  for  these  reasons:  We 
are  of  the  opinion  that  the  offense  was  of  a technical  character  and 
not  sufficient  to  warrant  the  punishment  inflicted  ; that  the  person,  or 
persons,  W'ho  brought  said  charge  and  prosecuted  the  same  did  so  on 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 3149fi. 


245 


account  of  i)rejudice  to  said  Moore.  His  long  servdce  in  tlie  cause  of 
temperance,  the  exposure  of  shams  and  frauds,  and  the  unmasking 
of  charlatans,  by  his  trenchant  pen,  should  entitle  him  to  clemency. 
Mr.  IMoore  is  an  old  man,  and  incarceration  in  the  penitentiary  will 
not  only  impair  his  already  precarious  health,  but  it  is  liable  to  cause 
his  premature  death. 

We  desire,  further,  to  call  your  attention  to  the  fact  that  Mr. 
Moore  has  a family  dependent  upon  him  for  support,  and  his  absence 
from  home  is  not  only  liable  to  cause  domestic  suffering  but  serious 
anguish,  which  in  all  probability  will  shorten  the  life  of  his  aged 
wdfe. 

We  hope,  after  a careful  reading  of  this  petition  and  accompany- 
ing letters,  you  will  not  hesitate  to  grant  the  par-don  sought. 

R.  C.  0.  Ben.tamin,  Editor  Standard,  Lexington,  Ky. 

With  this  closes  my  book  to  the  point  that  I wrote  it  in 
the  penitentiary,  I having  completed  it  and  sent  it  to  my  fam- 
ily in  one  month  after  I had  been  imprisoned.  Since  that 
time  I have  been  liberated,  and  I am  writing  now  at  my  home, 
“Quakeracre,”  on  the  farm,  eight  miles  north  of  Lexington. 
I am  writing  now  on  Sunday,  December  17,  1899,  my  book 
having  been  printed  nearly  up  to  this  point. 

I will  end- this  .story  of  my  life  by  telling,  in  one  chapter, 
an  outline  of  my  experience  from  the  time  I was  sent  to  the 
penitentiary  up  to  date,  and  that  will  be — 


CHAPTER  XI. 

When  I was  .sentenced  to  the  penitentiar}-  at  Columbus,  I 
had  never  seen  any  penitentiary  except  the  very  common  one 
at  Frankfoi't,  Kentucky,  from  a distance,  and  once,  twenty- 
years  before,  for  hardly  more  than  five  minutes,  inside.  A 
prisoner  had  just  cut  a guard  when  I got  there,  and  I heard 
him  telling  how  he  was  going  to  whip  the  prisoner.  Nat- 
urally, my  impressions  of  penitentiaries  were  not  very  pleas- 
ant. I got  to  Columbus  about  4 o'clock  in  the  evening  of 
February  8,  1899.  The  train  stopped  and  let  me  and  the  offi- 
cer off  near  the  penitentiary,  before  getting  to  the  station. 
The  thermometer  stood  then,  or  very  soon  after,  from  15°  to 
20°  below  zero. 


246 


BEHIND  THE  BARS : 31498. 


When  I came  in  sight  of  the  building  I found  it  a very 
large  and  a very  elegant  house.  It  had  then  over  2,300  pris- 
oners in  it.  When  I came  into  the  office  the  warm  air  felt 
pleasant.  The  officer  who  had  charge  of  me  took  the  hand- 
cuffs off  of  me,  and  I was  told  to  take  off  my  overcoat,  and  I, 
of  course,  did  so.  A man,  whom  I subsequently  found  to  be 
Warden  E.  G.  Coffin,  said  to  me,  in  rather  a rough  voice  and 
manner,  “What  were  you  sent  here  for?’’  I said,  “I  don’t 
know.”  He  said,  “Another  innocent  man  sent  here,  ha!’’  in 
a tone  of  irony.  I said  nothing.  He  was  a man  fully  six 
feet  high,  and  weighed  200  pounds.  He  seemed  to  have  an 
ordinarily  good  face.  He  was  about  70  years  old,  and  well 
preserved  for  a man  of  his  years. 

He  said  to  a guard,  who  was  waiting  to  take  charge  of 
me,  “He  is  too  old  to  work,”  I said  to  him,  “You  see  that 
my  hair  and  beard  are  very  long;  please  do  not  cut  them  off 
until  the  weather  moderates,  as  it  would  endanger  my  health; 
my  habit  is  to  wear  my  hair  and  beard  long  in  the  cold  weath- 
er, and  cut  them  off  only  once  a year,  at  sheep-shearing  time.” 
He  said  to  the  guard,  “Tell  them  not  to  cut  his  hair  and  beard 
without  further  orders  from  me,” 

The  guard  took  me  into  a hall  in  an  old  part  of  the 
prison,  and  allowed  me  to  stand  by  a stove  in  the  hall.  I 
knew  nothing  at  all  about  regulations,  but,  of  cour.se,  con- 
ducted my,self  like  a gentleman.  Some  prisoners  who  had 
special  privileges,  a dozen  or  two  of  them,  came  to  me,  and, 
in  the  presence  of  the  guards,  talked  to  me.  They  were 
anxious  to  know  about  me,  and  I talked  to  them  perfectly 
freely,  the  guards  hearing  or  not  hearing,  as  suited  them.  A 
prisoner  who  had  listened  to  me  .said,  “You  won’t  be  here 
long.”  That  same  thing  was  said  to  me  by  several  pri.soners. 
I do  not  know,  to  this  day,  whether  the}’  meant  I would  not 
be  in  the  penitentiary  at  all,  or  would  not  be  in  that  particular 
division  of  the  prison.  I did  not  then  know  that  there  was 
any  better  part  of  the  pri,son,  and  from  the  fad  that  all  of 
them  said  it  was  an  outrage  that  I had  been  .‘-ent  there,  I 
rather  thought  they  meant  to  say  that  I would  not  be  in  the 
penitentiary  long.  Several  of  them  told  me  in  a quarter  of 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


247 


an  hour  after  they  saw  me  and  heard  me  talk,  that  my  case 
was  not  at  all  like  that  of  any  bod}"  there,  and  they  con- 
demned the  court  that  had  sentenced  me  in  bitter  terms.  I 
saw  at  once  that  there  was  a general  understanding  among 
the  pri.soners  that  I had  been  falsely  imprisoned,  and  they 
showed  me  their  sympathy  and  respect  in  every  way.  I talked 
just  as  freely  as  I wanted  to  do,  the  guards  not  seeming  to 
want  to  stop  me,  but  plainly  being  interested  in  all  that  I 
said.  The  prisoners  were  ordered  to  fall  into  line  for  supper, 
and  I went  with  them  into  the  dining  room,  where  all  but 
fifty  or  one  hundred  ate.  I had  not  eaten  anything  since 
breakfast,  but  was  not  hungry.  All  of  the  supper  that  any- 
body there  had  was  some  stewed  raisins,  cold  baker’s  bread 
and  coffee,  or  imitation  of  coffee,  with  neither  milk  nor  sugar 
in  it.  I could  not  eat  it,  and  sat  waiting  for  the  order  to  rise. 
Nobody  was  allowed  to  speak  a word.  When  we  were  all 
marched  back  I was  directed  by  the  guard  to  follow  him  to 
my  cell.  His  name  was  Kolb,  and  he  was  always  a good 
friend  to  me.  The  cell  ranges  were  five  stories  high,  and  I 
was  in  the  second  story.  My  cell  was  about  four  feet  broad, 
seven  feet  long  and  six  feet  high  to  the  lowest  part  of  the 
arched  roof.  The  door  to  it  was  about  two  feet  wide  and  five 
feet  high. 

There  was  an  iron  bed,  three  feet  wide,  with  coarse  cov- 
ering on  it,  and  a straw  pillow.  There  was  no  furniture  but 
a wooden  stool.  There  was  a small  gas  jet.  On  a small  shelf 
above  the  door  I saw  a book,  and  took  it  down.  It  was  a 
Bible.  I opened  it  at  random.  It  was  at  the  story  of  “Eze- 
kiel’s vision  of  the  dry  bones  in  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat.’ ’ 
It  seemed  to  me  .something  of  a coincidence.  I had  several 
times  in  print  alluded  to  that  .stor}"  as  a sample  of  the  dull 
reading  of  the  Bible.  I laid  the  book  back  upon  the  shelf, 
and  did  not  touch  it  any  more. 

I was  locked  in  my  cell  about  6 o’clock.  I had  not  been 
there  more  than  a half  hour  before  a bright-faced  young  man 
came  to  my  cell-door,  and  was  introduced  to  me  by  the  guard 
as  Howard,  reporter  for  the  Press-Post  of  Columbus.  His 
face  and  manner  and  talk  and  everything  sliov.ed  that  he  was 


248 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


much  interested  in  mj"  case.  He  knew  I was  a newspaper 
man,  and  asked  me  to  give  him  a full  report  of  my  case,  and 
of  my  antecedents  and  of  myself.  I did  so,  he  taking  notes 
rapidly,  occasionally  asking  me  to  stop  a little  when  he  could 
not  keep  up  with  his  notes.  The  article  for  his  paper  next 
day  was  two  and  a half  columns  of  fine  print,  and  pictures  of 
me,  representing  me  as  a prisoner,  as  a preacher,  as  an  editor, 
and  as  a pede.strian  tourist.  It  was  exceedingly  compliment- 
ary of  me.  There  were  one  or  two  small  mistakes  that  did 
me  a little  injustice,  and  one  or  two  that  did  me  more  than 
justice — said  good  things  about  me,  regarded  morally  and  in- 
tellectually, that  were  more  than  I de.served,  so  that  as  a whole 
the  report  was  at  least  fair  to  me,  and  possibly  a little  more 
than  I deserved.  He  brought  me  a copy  of  it  next  day,  and 
we  were  friends  as  long  as  I was  in  prison. 

I soon  saw  that  the  papers  of  the  city  were  divided  in 
their  estimate  of  Warden  Coffin.  Those  that  were  for  him 
were  for  me,  and  those  that  were  against  him  were  against  me, 
but  the  preponderance  of  newspaper  influence  of  the  city  was 
for  both  of  us. 

I soon  noticed  that  all  officers  and  prisoners  spoke  in  com- 
plimentary terms  of  the  Warden.  I suppo.sed  that  was  policy, 
and  it  did  not  affect  m3'  e.stimate  of  him.  I was  not  entirely 
plea.sed  with  his  manner  to  me,  but  noticed  that  all  he  did  was 
fully  as  kind,  or  more  .so,  tb.an  I had  expected. 

Before  8 o’clock,  the  time  at  which  a bell  rang  for  us  to 
go  to  bed,  and  the  gas  was  turned  off,  a young  boy  who  was  a 
prisoner  there  from  Lexington,  Ky,,  and  who  had  been  sent 
there  from  some  far  Western  State,  and  who  had  a hall  per- 
mit, came  to  m3'  door,  and  told  me  that  he  had  brought  me  a 
sandwich.  He  broke  it  into  two  pieces,  so  as  to  get  it  through 
the  grates  of  my  cell-door.  It  was  of  light  bread  and  potted 
ham.  I thanked  him  heartily,  of  course.  It  refreshed  me, 
and  I enjoyed  it  the  more  becau.se  I thought  a guard  mu.st  be 
conniving  at  his  giving  it  to  me,  showing  that  the  guard  was 
friendly  to  me. 

When  I was  finally  left  to  myself,  I .sat  on  the  side  of  my 
bed  to  think  over  the  situation,  and  to  realize  that  I was  really 


BEHIND  THE  BAES;  31498.  249 

in  the  penitentiary,  There  was  not  a single  unhappy  thought 
about  it  except  the  unhappiness  that  I knew  my  condition  was 
giving  wife  and  children.  I cried  some  when  I thought 
about  that,  but  except  that.  I felt  proud  and  happy  that  I had 
stood  by  the  convictions  of  my  conscience  until  it  had  taken 
me  to  where  I was.  I felt  convinced  that  good  people  ever}'- 
where  would  honor  me,  and  that  as  soon  as  I could  get  a let- 
ter to  my  wife  and  family,  I would  greatly  relieve  their  minds. 
I went  to  sleep  feeling  quite  happy,  but  believing  that  I would 
wake  some  time  during  the  night  and  be  horrified  that  I was 
in  a penitentiary  cell.  I did  wake,  I suppose  about  midnight; 
the  whole  situation  flashed  through  my  mind  in  a second.  I 
just  said  to  my.self,  “I  am  here  for  having  done  right,  and  the 
world  will  be  better  and  happier  that  it  is  so,”  and  I dropped 
into  a sweet  sleep  in  a few  minutes,  and  slept  until  the  bell 
aroused  me  in  the  morning. 

The  guard  said  to  me,  “We  will  make  better  arrange- 
ments for  you  in  a day  or  two.  ’ ’ 

The  next  morning  for  my  breakfast  I was  taken  to  a place 
they  call  “Jericho,”  where  an  average  of  aboirt  75  prisoners 
ate,  and  the  eating  was  a good  deal  better  than  in  the  regular 
place  for  the  other  prisoners  to  eat,  and  we  were  not  marched 
into  and  out  of  it,  and  could  sit  and  eat  as  long  as  we  cared 
to.  Only  prisoners  who  were  to  be  treated  better  than  others 
were  taken  there.  But  they  were  black,  white,  Indians  and 
Chinese.  A good  many  of  those  who  ate  there  were  there  for 
onl}^  short  times,  but  I ate  there,  until  one  day  the  Warden 
gave  me  permission  to  go  outside  the  prison  and  take  my 
meals  at  a restaurant  that  belonged  to  the  prison  if  I would 
pay  fifteen  cents  for  each  meal,  and  I ate  there  the  last  month 
of  my  impri.sonment,  though  I could  have  eaten  there  sooner 
than  that  if  I had  cared  to  do  .so. 

The  .second  day  of  1115^  imprisonment  I was  taken  to  the 
room  for  the  identification  of  prisoners  by  the  Bertillon 
method.  My  photograph  was  taken  with  my  glasses  off,  front 
and  side  view,  with  my  prison  number  31498  fastened  across 
my  breast.  Then  I was  weighed  and  measured  in  many  di- 
mensions, and  my  own  clothes  were  taken  from  me,  except 


250 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  ; 31498. 


my  underclothing  and  shoes,  and  I was  put  into  the  gray  uni- 
form of  the  highest  grade  the  rules  allowed  to  be  given  to  any 
prisoner  on  his  first  coming  there.  It  had  a military  cap  and 
a suit  much  like  the  Confederate  uniform,  the  only  .stripe  on  it 
being  a blue  military  stripe  down  the  sides  of  the  legs  of  the 
pants.  The  very  highest  grade  uniform  was  just  like  that, 
except  that  the  stripe  w^as  black.  No  prisoner  could  have  the 
black  stripe  until  he  had  been  there  six  months  with  the  high- 
est grade  of  conduct. 

There  were  two  other  prisoners  examined  when  I was. 
They  were  stripped  nude,  but  I was  not  made  to  take  off  my 
underclothing.  Their  heads  and  beards  were  shaved.  Nei- 
ther my  hair  nor  beard  was  cut  while  I was  there,  and  they 
were  both  very  long. 

For  the  first  two  daj's  that  I was  there  I was  frequently 
taken  to  the  main  office  of  the  prison,  and  the  Warden  and 
other  high  officers  talked  with  me  for  hours,  most  of  the  time 
listening  to  me.  They  seemed  unusually  interested. 

The  third  day  I was  taken  out  of  my  cell,  and  given  one 
of  31  cells  that  were  much  more  comfortable  than  any  others 
in  the  whole  pri.son,  and  I thought  mine  was  the  best  situated 
of  them  all.  It  was  about  .six  feet  broad,  nine  feet  long,  and 
ten  feet  high,  and  it  had  a large  latticed  door,  and  the  whole 
front  was  latticed,  and  I had  a nice  bed,  and  nice  gas  and  heat. 
A prisoner,  for  50  cents  a month,  took  care  of  my  cell.  He 
put  in  it  a carpet,  and  another  pri.soner,  just  as  a kindness, 
brought  me  a nice  table,  and  I had  books  and  papers  and  writ- 
ing apparatus  in  abundance. 

The  average  good  pri.soner  could  write  one  page  only  twice 
a month.  I was  given  permission  to  write  as  many  letters  as 
I wanted  every  day,  and  as  long  as  I wanted  to,  and  I received 
an  average  of  five  letters  a day  while  I stayed  there.  In  a few 
days  after  getting  there  I was  put  to  writing  on  the  prison 
paper,  and  to  doing  the  principal  part  of  its  editing,  and  to 
reading  the  proof  of  a book  the  Warden  was  publi.shing,  and 
to  general  literar}^  work,  using  my  spare  time  for  a month  to 
write  all  of  this  book,  except  this  last  chapter  which  I am 
writing  at  my  home  in  Kentucky. 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498, 


251 


My  new  cell  was  in  a new  and  very  handsome  part  of  the 
prison,  and  I was  given  a hall  permit  that  allowed  me  to  walk 
in  a hall  of  the  prison,  the  hall  being  500  feet  long,  20  feet 
broad,  and  50  feet  high.  I could  spend  my  time  walking  in 
that  hall,  or  talking  with  some  privileged  prisoners,  from  5 
o’clock  each  evening  until  8:30  o’clock,  when  we  had  to  go  to 
bed. 

I found  among  the  prisoners  a man  of  70  years  of  age, 
who  was  a fine  thinker,  and  a man  of  pretty  broad  reading, 
and  he  and  I spent  a good  deal  of  our  spare  time  in  walking 
in  the  hall  and  in  conversation.  There  were  others  of  the 
prisoners  and  some  of  the  guards  who  were  interesting,  and 
some  of  the  guards  and  officers  showed  me  distinguished  kind- 
ness ; some  of  them  an  affection  that  surprised  me.  I never 
was  treated  by  prisoners  or  officers  like  any  other  man  in  the 
whole  prison. 

Everybod}"  seemed  to  regard  my  case  exactly  like  I did. 
Other  pri.soners  could  only  have  their  friends  at  stated  times, 
and  the\^  were  members  of  their  families.  There  were  people 
coming  to  see  me  almost  any  da}^,  and  I have  had  as  high  as 
thirt}’  visitors — gentlemen  and  ladies — to  come  and  see  me  at 
once,  and  they  would  bring  me  nice  things  to  eat.  There  was 
no  guard  with  them,  and  the  Warden  told  me,  after  the  warm 
weather  came,  to  take  my  friends  out  on  the  grass  in  the  large 
court  of  several  acres  of  pretty  trees  and  fountains  and  flow- 
ers and  a library,  and  my  friends  and  I would  talk  as  long  as 
we  wanted,  and  .sometimes  the  Warden  would  come  and  talk 
with  us.  He  called  me  once  to  introduce  me  to  Governor 
Bu.shnell,  whom  I found  to  be  a splendid  and  affable  gentle- 
man. Among  my  callers  were  Catholic  priests  and  Protestant 
clerg5’men. 

When  the  prett}’  .season  came  on,  the  Warden  gave  me  a 
permit  to  spend  a good  part  of  every  da}"  in  the  prison  yard, 
which  was  quite  beautiful.  This  was  a privilege  which  was 
granted  to  about  30  prisoners,  and  among  them  there  were 
men  who  were  as  intelligent  and  cultivated,  so  far  as  I could 
.see,  as  the  best  in  our  free  society.  In  order  to  get  to  stay 
out  in  the  fresh  air  in  the  pleasant  weather,  I asked  the  War- 


252 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


den  to  let  me  work  with  the  gardener,  and  the  Warden  fixed 
it  so  that  I could  stay  out  in  the  yard  or  in  the  greenhouse, 
and  work,  or  not  work,  as  it  suited  me. 

The  head  gardener  and  I soon  got  to  be  good  friends.  He 
was  a prisoner,  and  used  to  be  gardener  for  Booth,  who  killed 
Lincoln,  and  he  spoke  affectionately  of  Booth. 

One  day  the  Warden  came  to  me  out  in  the  yard,  and 
asked  me  to  let  him  .see  my  yard  permit.  He  took  it  and 
wrote  something  on  it,  and  told  me  that  would  allow  me  to 
go  outside  of  the  prison  whenever  I wanted  to,  so  that  I 
stayed  on  the  prison  grounds.  There  was  a beautiful  yard  in 
front  of  the  prison  outside,  about  six  hundred  feet  long  and 
one  hundred  feet  wide.  I had  simply  to  walk  to  the  prison 
gates  and  they  would  fly  open,  and  I went  out  whenever  I 
wanted  to;  never  less  than  once  each  day.  Nobody  was  al- 
lowed in  that  ground  but  some  trusty  prisoners,  when  they 
came  there  sometimes  to  work  on  it,  and  excepting  myself 
and  ni}'  friends  from  the  outside.  I would  frequently  lie 
down  on  the  grass  under  the  shade  and  go  to  sleep,  and  my 
friends,  nice  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  little  children,  would 
come  and  sit  with  me. 

The  friendship  between  Warden  Coffin  and  myself  seemed 
to  grow  stronger  all  the  time  I was  there,  and  he  would  fre- 
quently bring  me,  or  send  me,  letters  that  he  would  receive 
from  various  parts  of  the  United  States,  thanking  him  for  his 
kindness  to  me. 

All  the  time  I was  there  I edited  mj'  paper  the  Blue  Grass 
Blade,  and  it  came  to  the  prison,  the  Warden  telling  me  to 
.send  it  to  him,  and  its  coming  each  week  was  watched  for 
with  interest  b}^  its  coterie  of  readers  there. 

I could  have  avoided  going  to  church  if  I had  tried  to, 
but  the  exercises  were  nearly  always  interesting,  and  fre- 
quently very  funny;  the  fun  being  made  by  music  and  speeches 
of  vi.sitors  and  pri.soners  and  the  Chaplain  and  the  Warden. 
The  music  and  the  floral  displays  were  beautiful.  Soon  after 
I was  .sent  there  the  Warden  alluded  to  me  one  day  in  a .speech 
in  the  chapel  in  the  mo.st  complimentary  terms,  saying  that  I 
was  a man  who  knew  a thousand  times  as  much  as  he  did. 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


253 


After  I had  been  there  about  three  months,  one  da}'  my 
young  friend,  Howard,  of  the  Press-Post,  came  running  into 
the  printing  office  to  be  the  first  to  bring  me  some  good  news, 
and,  as  .soon  as  he  could  get  his  breath,  he  told  me  that  Pre.s;- 
dent  McKinley  had  commuted  my  sentence  to  six  months, 
with  all  the  benefits  of  “good  time,”  for  good  behavior,  so 
that  my  whole  imprisonment  would  be  only  five  months.  He 
had  learned  it  by  telegraph  from  Washington,  and  the  War- 
den said  he  had  been  so  informed,  and  in  a few  days  he  handed 
me  my  commutation  papers,  and  I was  to  be  liberated  on  the 
7th  of  July. 

From  that  time  on  the  dear  ones  at  my  home  counted  the 
days  when  I would  be  at  home,  and  my  good  friend,  Warden 
E.  G.  Coffin,  who  had  defeated  the  purpose  of  my  Christian 
enemies  to  make  me  suffer,  or  probably  kill  me,  in  the  peni- 
tentiary, because  I did  not  believe  their  religion,  promised  to 
come  home  with  me.  He  did  not  do  it,  however,  owing  to 
unu.sual  stress  of  business  just  about  the  time  I started  home, 
but  I still  have  his  promise  to  visit  me. 

I received  congratulations  from  many  .sources,  including 
my  prison  companions.  The  4th  of  July  was  a holiday  for 
all  the  prisoners.  Over  2,300  of  them  were  allowed  to  come 
out  and  have  a grand  picnic  with  their  friends  on  the  grass, 
inside  the  walls,  the  women  prisoners  being  allowed  to  spend 
the  day  in  the  beautiful  yard  outside  the  pri.son,  to  which  I 
was  the  only  prisoner  that  had  access.  It  was  such  a sight  as 
cannot  be  witnessed  anywhere  else  in  the  whole  world. 

There  was  an  old  guard  named  Frankhauser,  whose  kind- 
ness to  me  was  remarkable.  He  never  locked  my  cell  at  night 
that  he  did  not  say  to  me,  “Good  night,  Brother  Moore.” 

According  to  the  rules  of  the  pri.son,  only  the  very  best 
prisoners  could  have  their  permits  for  a month  at  a time,  and 
then  they  were  renewed,  if  they  had  done  right.  When  mine 
expired,  toward  the  close  of  my  imprisonment,  I handed  the 
expired  permits  to  old  Brother  Frankhau.ser  to  get  them  re- 
newed by  the  Warden,  The  kind  old  guard  said  to  me,  “Oh, 
you  don’t  have  to  have  any  permit:  you  just  go  ahead  like 
you  had  one,  and  I will  stand  between  you  and  any  danger.” 


254 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


I said  “No,  I don’t  want  to  do  that;  I want  to  abide  by  the 
rules  of  the  prison.”  He  laughed  and  .said,  “You  are  right,” 
and  took  my  expired  permits  and  had  them  fixed  at  his  leis- 
ure, I enjoying  all  privileges  without  them  in  the  meantime. 

A day  or  so  before  my  day  to  be  released  I asked  old 
Brother  Fraukhauser  at  what  time  he  would  unlock  my  cell 
in  the  morning  of  the  day  1113^  time  expired,  and  he  said,  “At 
any  time  you  .say  after  the  clock  strikes  twelve  in  the  night.” 
I arranged  to  have  him  unlock  me  at  the  usual  time,  five 
o’clock  in  the  morning,  and  he  was  there  with  a happy  smile 
on  his  face  to  congratulate  me. 

Mau3^  of  the  prisoners  along  in  the  thirty-one  cells  of  the 
“Banker’s  Row”  that  I was  in,  were  there  for  life,  and  some 
of  their  cells  were  luxuriously  furui.shed,  and  had  curtains 
that  they  drew  down  over  their  doors  and  gratings.  They 
furnished  these  themselves,  but  though  I had  plenty  of  friends 
at  home  and  in  Columbus,  and  almost  anywhere  who  would 
have  been  glad  to  furnish  me  all  of  those,  I never  had  any- 
thing in  my  cell  but  the  simple  things  I have  told  you  of. 
The  Warden  had  told  me  that  if  I preferred  it  he  would  have 
me  a sleeping  room  fixed  in  the  printing  office,  so  that  I need 
not  go  into  a cell  at  all,  but  the  cell  had  so  many  advantages 
that  I did  not  care  to  make  the  change. 

I was  the  only  prisoner  who  could  be  in  my  cell  when  I 
wanted  to,  at  the  hours  when  visitors  were  pas.sing  through 
the  wards,  as  they  did  by  hundreds,  almost  every  day.  Some- 
times a crowd  of  gentlemen  and  ladies  would  gather  at  my 
cell  door,  and  talk  to  me  a long  time,  and  beg  for  “just  any 
old  copy  of  the  Blue  Grass  Blade”  that  I could  find,  and  I 
generally  had  a package  to  distribute. 

On  the  morning  of  my  liberation  I bade  good-bye  to 
many  officers  and  prisoners,  and  went  out  in  the  same  suit  of 
citizen’s  clothes  that  I had  worn  to  the  prison.  Ordinarily 
the  suit  worn  there  by  prisoners  is  given  out  to  any  prisoner 
that  may  be  going  out,  but  mine  was  nicely  put  away  for  me 
and  was  returned  to  me  all  cleaned  and  pressed  in  nice  st3de, 
a banker  prisoner  from  Cincinnati,  who  had  charge  of  that 
department,  taking  great  interest  in  having  me  provided  for. 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


255 


The  Warden  was  going  to  have  a nice  citizen’s  suit  made 
for  me  by  the  fine  tailor  prisoners,  but  I told  him  I would 
rather  have  a nicely  made  prison  uniform,  so  he  had  the  tail- 
ors to  take  m3’  measure,  and  the3’  made  and  gave  me  the  nicest 
prison  suit  they  could  make,  taking  extra  pains  with  it,  and 
putting  the  black  stripe  down  the  pants,  instead  of  the  blue, 
making  it  the  highest  grade,  though  I had  onl}^  constructive!}’ 
been  there  six  months. 

By  previous  arrangement  I was  to  meet  my  friend,  F.  S. 
Montgomery,  who  lived  at  Shepard,  four  miles  from  Colum- 
bus, on  the  steps  of  the  State  Capitol-  He  came  there  for  me 
with  his  carriage,  and  drove  me  and  some  gentlemen  friends 
around  the  cit}’,  and  then  took  me  to  dinner  at  the  home  of 
Mr.  J.  M.  Byler  and  wife,  who  had  been  good  friends  to  me, 
and  who  would  come  to  see  me  on  the  lawn  in  front  of  the 
prison,  and  bring  me  nice  things  to  eat.  We  had  a delicious, 
dinner  and  a delightful  time.  His  wife  and  little  children  are 
all  beautiful  and  sweet. 

When  we  had  talked  an  hour  or  so  after  dinner,  it  was 
train  time,  and  the  took  me  to  the  elegant  station,  the  Gov- 
ernment having  given  me  a ticket  to  Lexington. 

At  Cincinnati  there  were  friends  who  live  in  that  cit}^ 
who  met  me,  and  the  reporters  for  the  big  papers  had  long  in- 
terview's with  me,  and  wrote  long  and  complimentary  accounts 
of  me. 

My  reception  at  Lexington  w'as  the  most  remarkable 
thing  in  that  line  ever  given  any  prisoner  in  the  world.  I 
had  been  told  by  my  wife  that  there  would  be  a demonstration 
in  Lexington,  on  my  return,  but  I had  supposed  that  in  con- 
sequence of  a two  hours  delay  of  the  train  upon  which  I was, 
in  consequence  of  a freight  wreck,  probably  there  w'ould 
hardly  be  anybody  at  the  train,  w’hich  did  not  get  in  until 
nine  o’clock  p.  m. 

When  the  train  rolled  into  the  station  I heard  a band 
playing  “M}'  Old  Kentucky  Home,”  and  looked  out  upon 
the  perfect  throng  of  people,  and  soon  saw'  that  they  w'ere  all 
there  to  meet  and  w'elcome  me.  It  w'as  hard  for  me  to  realize 
that  it  W'as  possible. 


256 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


I am  writing  these  lines  at  mj'  home,  “Quakeracre,”  on 
December  26,  1899.  I will  close  this  book  with  the  account 
of  my  reception  at  home  by  reprinting  from  the  Blue  Grass 
Blade  of  July  16,  E.  M.  299,  what  I there  reprinted  from 
other  newspapers. 

Before  printing  these  I ha\-e  the  following  to  say  regard- 
ing my  whole  life  up  to  the  hour  at  which  I am  writing.  I 
am  now  62  years  and  6 days  old.  I am  enjoying  remarkable 
health  and  strength.  I do  not  regret  a single  thing  in  my 
whole  life.  I am  glad  that  it  has  all  been  ju.st  as  it  has  been, 
and  I w^ould  not  change  a .single  thing  in  it,  if  I had  miracu- 
lous power  with  which  to  do  it.  I would  not  exchange  1115'^ 
life  for  that  of  any  Pre.sident  of  the  United  States.  I may 
yet  do  that  which  I will  deeply  regret.  I shall  labor  not  to  do 
so.  My  highest  ambition  has  been  far  more  than  realized.  I 
•have  believed  all  my  life,  that  to  act  ju.st  as  I have  done  would 
enable  me  to  sa}^  that  I was  proud  of  my  record,  in  my  old 
days.  I now  say  that  with  a deeper  appreciation  of  its  sig- 
nificance than  I had  ever  dreamed  of.  I would  not  exchange 
the  rewards  of  my  conscience  that  are  now  mine  for  all  the 
money  of  Rockefeller.  I am  assured  that  after  I am  dead  I 
will  be  honored  even  more  than  while  I was  living.  I believe 
that  my  life  has  been  such  as  to  make  my  race  better  and  hap- 
pier. I believe  that  my  being  .sent  to  the  penitentiary  was 
fortunate  for  me  and  all  others. 

While  I have  had  manj-  Christian  friends  who  were  and 
are  as  good  people  as  ever  lived,  the  most  dangerous  citizens 
that  we  have — the  greatest  enemies  to  public  liberty,  intelli- 
gence and  morals,  and  the  greatest  tyrants  and  hypocrites  on 
earth  are  men  and  women  who  are  not  only  in  the  churches, 
but  who  are  so  prominent  and  active  in  their  work  that  the 
church  is  a public  enemy. 

The  whole  Bible  is  a bundle  of  errors,  except  a few  moral 
precepts  that  are  found  in  all  religions,  which  are  very  fine 
and  w'hich  we  should  try  to  practice. 

Before  Ingersoll  died  it  was  hard  for  me  to  forgive  him 
that  he  had  never  come  to  my  assistance,  but  after  his  great 
death,  which  ended  the  greatest  life  of  any  man  known  to 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


257 


history,  I have  mingled  all  my  reproaches  of  him  with  his 
ashes  and  scattered  them  to  the  winds. 

The  greatest  sentence  ever  uttered  was  when  Tom  Paine 
said,  “The  world  is  my  country,  humanit}^  my  brethren,  and 
to  do  good  is  my  religion.’’ 

I clo.se  my  book,  like  the  great  Infidel,  Lincoln,  “with 
charity  to  all  and  malice  to  none.’’ 

CHAPTER  XII. 

[From  the  Lexington  Leader.] 

MADE  HERO  OE  THE  HEATHEN. 

EDITOR  MOORE  RETURNS  FROM  THE  PENITENTIARY  AND  IS 

ACCORDED  AN  OVATION. — A GALA  NIGHT  FOR  FREE- 
THINKERS. 

Editor  C.  C.  Moore  is  home  again  after  a .six  mouths 
term  in  the  Ohio  State  Penitentiary. 

He  came  in  last  night  wearing  a low-crowned  straw  hat 
and  a smile,  and  in  one  hand  he  carried  a box  containing  his 
prison  suit. 

The  train  was  two  hours  late,  owing  to  a small  wreck  of 
three  lumber  cars  at  Blanchett  Station  on  the  Cincinnati 
Southern,  but  the  crowd  that  had  begun  to  assemble  long  be- 
fore the  regular  time  of  arrival  stuck  it  out  to  the  last  and 
seemed  determined  not  to  be  deprived  of  being  pre.sent  at  the 
home-coming  of  the  “Heathen.’’ 

Saxton’s  baud  played  “My  Old  Kentucky  Home’’  when 
the  editor  alighted,  and  the  crowd  which  had  accumulated  un- 
til it  reached  nearly  500  people,  yelled  and  shouted  as  friends 
grasped  the  editor’s  hand  and  told  him  how  glad  they  were 
to  see  him  back  again. 

THE  first  hand-shake. 

Editor  Moore  came  in  on  the  Blue  Grass  Special,  and 
was  seen  first  by  the  crowd  at  the  station  through  the  plate 
glass  windows  of  the  parlor  car  in  the  rear. 

He  came  out  of  the  train  onto  the  rear  platform  as  the 


258 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


crowd  surged  quickly  around  that  end  of  the  car,  and  pushed 
and  slioved  for  places  to  see  and  greet  him. 

The  first  man  to  shake  his  hand  was  Mr.  Tetcher  Eusby, 
an  old-time  friend.  The  greeting  was  most  cordial. 

The  next  hand  Editor  Moore  received  to  shake  was  that 
of  Hon.  Mo.ses  Kaufman,  a leading  member  of  the  Reception 
Committee.  Then  came  a series  of  his  warmest  friends, 
among  whom  was  Mr.  W.  W.  Goddard,  of  Harrodsburg,  a 
particular  admirer.  When  Editor  Moore  saw  him  he  fell  on 
his  shoulders  and  embraced  him  like  a brother. 

reception  touched  him. 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  the  venerable  editor  of  the 
Blade  could  refrain  from  shedding  tears  as  he  exclaimed  that 
he  had  no  idea  he  was  to  be  honored  by  such  an  enthusiastic 
reception. 

It  was  fully  five  minutes  before  he  could  be  gotten 
through  the  crowd  to  the  carriages  in  the  rear  of  the  station, 
where  he  was  again  detained  by  hand-skaking  on  all  sides. 

Editor  Moore  tipped  his  hat  and  bowed  graciously  to  the 
throng  in  response  to  their  shouting. 

When  the  procession  of  earriages  formed,  making  five 
altogether,  the  band  boarded  one  of  the  new  electric  cars, 
which  had  been  especially  chartered  for  the  purpose,  and  in  a 
few  moments  more  the  receiving  party  was  on  its  way  to  the 
Phoenix  Hotel. 

streets  were  crowded. 

The  streets  along  the  line  of  the  march  were  crowded, 
and  the  people  shouted  to  Editor  Moore  as  he  passed.  On 
South  Broadway  at  each  street  intersection  were  lines  of  per- 
sons, both  white  and  black,  sometimes  three  and  four  deep. 
The  band  played  as  the  procession  proceeded,  and  behind  the 
carriages  gathered  a big  following.  At  Main  and  Broadway, 
as  the  car  turned  it  was  confronted  with  a long  line  of  people 
who  had  as.sembled  along  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk,  and  as 
the  procession  passed  up  Main  Street  the  shouts  eehoed  for 
half  a block  at  a time.  Editor  Moore  was  obliged  to  tip  his 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


259 


hat  aud  bow  again  and  again,  passing  Mill,  Upper  and  Uime- 
stone  Streets.  At  the  Phoenix  Hotel  the  car  with  Saxton’s 
band  stopped,  and  the  carriage  containing  Editor  Moore,  who 
had  ridden  with  Mr.  Kaufman,  Mr.  Julius  Marks  and  Mrs. 
Josephine  K.  Henry,  drew  up  at  the  ladies’  entrance. 

met  by  his  wife. 

At  the  entrance  of  the  hotel  Editor  Moore  was  met  by 
his  wife.  The  crowd  here  was  bigger  than  at  any  other  point. 
The  scene  accompanying  the  meeting  was  very  affecting.  Ed- 
itor Moore  fell  upon  his  wife’s  neck  and  wept  for  joy.  His 
daughter.  Miss  Eucile  Moore,  was  there  also,  and  with  her 
Miss  Nannie  St.  Clair,  of  Georgetown.  Editor  Moore  met 
his  son  Leland,  when  he  reached  the  parlors  upstairs  and  em- 
braced him  for  the  first  time  since  he  was  released  from  the 
prison.  He  introduced  his  wife  to  the  crowd  aud  told  them 
he  was  glad  to  present  to  them  the  woman  w’ho  had  said  she 
was  not  ashamed  of  being  a convict’s  wife. 


SPEAKS  TO  A EARGE  CROWD. 

After  Mr.  Moore  had  been  escorted  to  the  parlor  aud 
been  welcomed  by  many  hand-shakes,  cries  went  up  from  the 
crowds  in  front  of  the  hotel  for  a speech. 

The  white-haired  and  white-bearded  editor  .soon  appeared 
on  the  porch  and  at  once  all  were  attention. 

“I  thank  you,”  said  the  venerable  gentleman,  “from  the 
very  depths  of  my  heart  for  this  reception.  It  more  than 
atones  for  confinement  in  the  penitentiary.  In  fact,  I would 
have  been  willing  to  spend  my  life  in  the  penitentiary  to  know 
that  I had  so  many  and  such  faithful  friends  in  my  home 
place. 

‘‘All  of  you  have  been  true  to  me  and  from  now  on  I 
.shall  devote  all  my  energies  toward  the  uplifting  of  everyone, 
the  aiding  and  benefiting  of  everyone — even  the  preachers. 

‘‘I  have  been  one  of  the  most  honored  prisoners  ever 
confined.  My  lot  in  the  penitentiary  might  have  been  a very 
different  one,  but  I found  in  the  Warden  'a  man_  who  thought 
of  religion  much  as  I do. 


261) 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 3149S. 


“I  am  uo  martyr,  but  I willingly  and  cheerfully  suffered 
for  what  I believed  to  be  the  truth  and  would  have  died  for 
it  had  it  been  required  of  me. 

“Dreyfus  and  I,  prisoners  as  we  have  been,  and  as  he  is 
now,  are  more  honored  than  any  pri.soners  in  history,  and  we 
were  both  persecuted  for  religion’s  sake,  he  by  Catholic.s — ’’ 

At  this  a female  voice  from  the  crowd  cried  out : 

“That’s  a lie.’’ 

Editor  Moore  concluding  the  sentence  said  ; 

“And  I by  Protestants.” 

“I  have  no  animosity  toward  anyone,  and  rejoice  to  be 
once  more  among  3^on.’’ 


thp:  formal  reception. 

■ After  delivering  the  short  speech  from  the  balcony  the 
Heathen  Editor  stepped  back  into  the  parlor,  his  friends  there 
closing  around  the  center  table.  Editor  Moore  was  shown  a 
chair  by  the  side  of  his  wife  and  family,  where  he  sat  down 
to  wait  for  the  ceremonies  to  proceed.  The  editor  was  as  pic- 
turesque as  ever,  with  a wealth  of  long  curly  hair  and  whis- 
kers just  inclined  to  gray,  which  he  said  Warden  Coffin  had 
kindly  spared.  “I  intended  to  trim  them,”  he  said,  laughing, 
“as  I have  made  it  a practice  to  cut  them  once  a year,  and 
that  at  .sheep-.shearing  time,  but  I thought  I’d  wear  them 
home  this  way  to  show  you  that  they  haven’t  been  tampered 
with  by  the  prison  officials.’’  When  Mr.  P.  Parrott  rapped 
for  order,  Hon.  Moses  Kaufman  was  introduced  and  he  made 
the  following  address  of  welcome  : 

MR.  KAUFMAN’S  WELCOME. 

This  reception  on  your  return  home,  Mr.  Moore,  is  tendered  you 
by  your  friends,  not  because  of  any  views  they  may  hold  in  common 
with  you — for  there  are  those  among  us  who  do  not  agree  with  you  in 
all  things — but  because  of  the  esteem  we  hold  you  in,  and  because  of 
the  love  we  bear  you. 

It  is  not  Chai'les  Moore,  the  rationalist,  but  Charles  Moore,  the 
model  husband,  the  loving  father,  the  kind  neighbor,  and  respected 
fellow-towmsman  wliom  we  tvelcome. 

We  want  to  show  to  the  world,  persecuted  and  hounded  by  your 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


261 


enemies  as  you  have  been,  that  we,  who  know  you  best,  love  you  none 
the  less  and  honor  you  more  for  the  wrongs  you  have  been  made  to 
suffer. 

You  are  neither  the  first,  nor  will  you  be  the  last,  who  has  thus 
been  made  to  feel  the  fangs  of  those  who  are  tolerant  of  no  opinions 
except  their  own. 

The  pages  of  history  are  filled  with  the  illustrious  names  of  those 
who  thought,  and  uttered  truths,  beyond  the  limits  placed  by  their 
generations.  Socrates  dared  to  go  beyond,  and  was  condemned  to 
death,  Spinoza  was  excommunicated,  Galileo  was  imprisoned,  and  Mi- 
chael Servetus  and  Bruno  died  at  the  stake.  Yet  to-day  monuments 
are  erected  to  their  memory,  and  a grateful  world  acknowledges  the 
service  rendered  civilization  by  them. 

Even  .Tesus,  for  teaching  a loftier  morality,  broader  views  and 
newer  thoughts,  was  condemned  to  death  by  an  intolerant  priest- 
hood ; and  yet  to-day,  after  1900  years,  more  than  one-third  of  all  the 
world  worships  at  his  shrine. 

France  has  its  Dreyfus  ; Kentucky  has  her  Moore. 

Innocent  of  crime,  and  accused  by  those  whom  he  had  reason  to 
believe  to  be  his  friends,  Capt.  Dreyfus  was  cruelly  sentenced  to  a 
punishment  worse  than  death.  But  at  this  very  moment  all  France 
is  ringing  with  the  cry  of  “A  bas  Tarme — Vive  la  Justice  !”  And  tak- 
ing up  that  cry,  reverberating  through  the  corridors  of  the  world, 
and  as  it  comes  to  us,  borne  on  the  crests  of  the  ocean  waves,  we  too 
shout:  “Down  with  bigotry ! Down  with  hypocrisy!  Long  live  lib- 
erty ! Long  live  free  speech  !” 

There  may  be  Ruckers  to  accuse,  and  courts  found  to  condemn, 
but  nothing  shall  ever  stop  the  avalanche  of  truth  as  it  rushes  upon 
the  century  at  our  doors. 

“Forward,  forward,  let  us  range. 

Let  this  great  world  spin  forever  down 
The  ringing  grooves  of  change.” 

IMr.  Moore,  on  behalf  of  your  friends  of  the  city  of  Lexington,  I 
bid  you  welcome  back  to  your  home — your  home  which  your  enemies 
had  nigh  m ule  desolate — and  back  to  our  hearts,  from  which,  how- 
('vcr,  you  liave  never  for  a single  moment  been  absent. 


A .STRONG  LETTEK. 

Mr.  Kaufman  was  applauded  when  asked  that  he  be  al- 
lowed to  read  a letter  which  had  been  received  from  I G.  J.  B. 
Wilson,  of  Cincinnati,  who  was  not  able  to  be  present,  and, 
in  addition,  present  some  resolutions  passed  by  Lexington 


262 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


friends  thanking  Dr.  Wilson  and  others  for  kindness  shown. 
Dr.  Wilson’s  letter  was  read  as  follows  : 

CiNCiNN.VTi,  0.,  .July  7,  1899. 

To  Hon.  IVIuses  Kaufman  : 

I regret  that  I cannot  attend  the  banquet  which  yoin’self  and  oth- 
er citizens  of  Lexington  will  tender  Mr.  IMoore  on  liis  arrival  home  Sat- 
urday evening.  I had  a little  to  say  about  the  injustice  w'hich  com- 
pelled him  to  leave  home,  and  if  I could  have  the  pleasure  of  attend- 
ing the  banquet,  I would  have  something  to  say  about  the  triumph  of 
his  return. 

I congratulate  the  Liberals  of  Lexington  upon  this  occasion, 
whicli  is  a notice  to  the  clergy  that  the  day  has  passed  when  religious 
persecution  can  go  unchallenged  ; that  Freethought  is  a power  that  is 
beginning  to  be  recognized  and  felt ; that  it  is  rapidly  drifting  toward 
organization,  and  that  all  future  attempts  to  suppress  free  speech  and 
free  press  immediately  becomes  a National  issue — an  issue  that 
reaches  even  to  the  Presidential  ear,  and  becomes  a responsibility 
that  even  he  cannot  avoid.  The  fear  of  offending  the  Liberals  of  this 
country,  which  doubtless  chielly  inlluenced  the  President  to  grant 
commutation  of  sentence,  is  indication  of  our  growing  imiiortance  and 
strength. 

Your  welcome  to  Mr.  Moore  is  a merited  rebuke  to  all  who  were 
instrumental  in  depriving  him  of  his  liberty,  a just  rebuke  to  the  ig- 
norance of  Judge  Thomjjson  and  Attorney  Bundy.  T say  “ignorance 
and  incapacity,”  because  these  men  are  fitted  neither  by  study,  prac- 
tice nor  experience  for  such  eminent  judicial  positions. 

They  are  politicians,  and  only  occupy  their  ])ositions  as  the  result 
of  S(|uaring  political  obligations.  Neither  of  them  seemed  to  compre- 
hend the  relation  of  free  government,  this  far-reaching  principle 
which  involves  the  very  birthright  of  free  government.  Neither  of 
them  seemed  to  know  that  a United  States  Court  is  a tribunal,  not 
for  the  special  purpose  of  convicting  offenders,  but  for  dispensing 
justice.  They  made  a foolisli  blunder,  and  that,  too,  at  the  begin- 
ning of  their  judicial  career. 

The  indictment  and  imi)risonment  of  Mr.  Moore  has  not  been  in 
vain  ; for  through  it  notice  has  been  served  to  religious  fanatics,  and 
to  all  prejudiced  courts,  that  every  such  challenge  to  the  right  of  free 
speech  and  free  press,  from  this  on,  will  become  a national  issue,  and 
will  be  defiantly  met  by  a stubborn  opposition. 

Mr.  Moore  was  indicted  and  sentenced  simply  because  he  is  an 
iniidel.  His  right  to  discuss  sex  and  other  social  issues  would  never 
have  been  (|uestioned  it  he  had  given  Jesus  all  the  honor  and  glory. 

I congratidate  the  State  of  Kentucky  for  the  broad  and  liberal 
mindedness  of  so  many  of  her  eminent  public  men,  who,  in  the  sen- 
tence of  Mr.  Moore,  felt  that  justice  was  outraged,  and  made  his 
cause  their  own, 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


263 


But  above  all,  we  may  congratulate  ourselves  upon  the  larger  and 
fuller  libe>’ality  of  the  times ; upon  that  growing  liberality  which  is 
beginning  to  realize  that  the  right  of  free  speech  in  one  person  in- 
volves the  same  right  in  all ; that  freedom  cannot  exist  in  the  same 
government  with  slavery ; that  man  cannot  be  politically  free,  and 
woman  politically  enslaved  ; that  justice  cannot  prevail  with  the  su- 
perfluities of  the  land  in  the  hands  of  a few,  and,  labor  begging  for 
something  to  do  ; that  political  freedom  alone  is  not  the  full  measure 
of  government,  but  only  government  in  name,  when  not  equally  al- 
lied with  religious  and  economic  freedom ; that  freedom  of  con- 
science under  a free  government  does  not  mean  that  the  Christian 
clergy  alone  are  entitled  to  the  exercise  of  it ; but  that  the  holiness  of 
the  Christian’s  belief  shall  stand  upon  the  same  footing  and  no  high- 
er than  the  holiness  of  the  skeptic’s  belief.  We  congratulate  our- 
selves that,  more  and  more,  men  and  women  are  inclined  to  do  their 
own  thinking,  and  bz-avely  to  speak  their  honest  opinions,  and  that 
they  are  inspii’ed  to  so  act  just  as  Burns  says,  “for  the  glorious  privi- 
legeof  being  independent.” 

I will  see  that  Mr.  Moore  leaves  Ohio  in  a sober  condition,  and 
hope  he  will  reach  Lexington  in  good  shape  for  a great  speech. 

Sincerely  youi-s,  ,T.  B.  Wilson,  M.  D. 


THE  RESOLUTIONS. 

The  resolutioii.s  were  a.s  follows  : 

Whereas,  Dr.  J.  B.  Wilson,  of  Cincinnati,  O.,  and  Warden  Coffin, 
of  Columbus,  O.,  in  their  seveial  capacities  have  extended  favors  to 
our  fellow-townsman,  Mr.  C.  C.  Moore,  at  a time  when  he  most 
needed  favors — the  one  by  his  loyal  and  moi’al  sujzport,  coming  fear- 
lessly to  Mr.  Moore’s  defense,  by  denouncing  in  unmeasured  terms 
the  injustice  done  Mr.  Moore,  and  aiding  and  sustaining  him  in  every 
wayt  and  the  other  by  his  sympathy,  univei'sal  courtesy,  timely  kind- 
ness and  considerate  ti-eatment  during'Mr.  Moore’s  imprisonment; 
therefoi-e  * 

Resolved,  That  we,  the  jiersonal  friends  of  Mi-.  Moore  in  his 
home  here  in  Lexington,  gratefully  acknowledge  the  favors  shown 
Mr.  Moore,  with  the  same  gratitude  as  if  shown  to  us  in  pei'son,  and 
herewith  tender  the  gentlemen  above  named  a vote  of  ’oui'  deepest 
and  profoundest  thanks. 


MRS  HENRY’S  ADDRESS. 

Mrs.  Josephine  K.  Henry  followed  Mr.  Kaivnian  with  a 
strong  address,  saying; 

This  is  an  occasion  unparalleled  in  the  history  of  Kentucky,  It 


264 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  ; 31498. 


does  not  conflict,  however,  with  the  logic  of  events  nor  the  law  of 
progress.  Thongh  it  may  seem  to  many  an  unimportant  event,  yet  it 
bears  with  tremendous  force  iii)on  the  progress  of  intellectual  liberty, 
and  the  protection  of  free  speech  and  free  press  in  the  American  re- 
public. Tuis  occasion  emphasizes  humanity’s  demand  for  justice,  and 
extracts  the  sting  of  dishonor  from  outlawed  innocence.  It  empha- 
sizes the  fact,  too,  that  freedom  of  speech  is  every  American  citizen’s 
right,  and  cannot  be  infringed  upon,  even  though  its  exercise  destroy 
the  idols  of  the  |>ast  and  endanger  the  most  cherished  ideas.  In  this 
government  of  the  people,  by  the  people,  and  for  the  people,  every 
man  and  woman  has  the  inalienable  right  to  give  to  the  world  his  or 
her  best  thought,  and  when  written  or  unwritten  law  attempts  to  de- 
stroy that  right,  it  undermines  the  very  foundations  of  American  de- 
mocracy. 

Five  months  ago,  under  the  pretext  of  violating  a national  law, 
the  man  whom  we  honor  to-night  was  taken  from  the  bosom  of  his 
family,  from  his  daily  ])ursuits  and  the  society  of  his  friends,  and  im- 
prisoned among  felons  in  the  United  States  penitentiary  at  Columbus, 
Ohio.  He  had  committed  no  crime,  save  the  expression  of  a thought. 
In  the  abounding  How  of  his  ]ient-up  soul,  and  in  a moment  of  indig- 
nant defianc.e  of  laws  and  customs,  which  through  ignorance  and  in- 
tolerance have  so  o])pressed  and  degraded  humanity,  he  expressed  a 
thought,  and  the  iron  hand  of  religious  tyranny  invoked  the  law  by 
stealth  to  clothe  this  man  in  a convict’s  garb  and  ))lace  him  behind 
prison  bars.  Like  a wounded  eagle  which  surrenders  to  its  captors, 
this  prisoner accei)ted  his  sentence  with  sublime  cr)urage  and  resigna- 
tion. The  love  for  humanity,  for  truth,  for  honor,  for  justice,  flashed 
from  his  I'ye  as  American  freedom  was  shackled  in  his  person,  and  he 
was  borne  away  to  a convict  cell. 

The  court  which  sentenced  this  man,  in  rvhose  honor  this  assem- 
blage of  intellectually  free  men  and  free  wonum  is  gathered,  builded 
wiser  than  it  knew.  The  decree  of  the  court,  though  stimulated  by 
religious  rancor  and  endoi'scd  by  oi'ganized  hypocrisy,  was  so  contrary 
to  the  .Vmerican  ideal  of  indix’idual  liberty,  that  even  consei'vatives 
denounced  it  as  not  only  cruel  and  unjust,  but  exceedingly  unwise. 
Public  opinion  was  seconded  by  a decree  from  the  White  House  that 
Charles  C.  Moore  be  restored  to  liberty. 

It  is  a fact  seldom  recorded  in  the  history  of  the  human  race  that  . 
a warm  welcome  and  manifestations  of  joy  await  a liberated  con- 
vict. 

If  Charles  C.  Moore’s  accusers  can  j)resent  themselves  mentally 
and  morally  unsullied  as  he  is,  even  in  his  convict’s  garb,  let  them 
come  out  of  their ‘'coward’s  castle,”  and  meet  him  in  noble,  honor- 
able, intellectual  battle.  Their  silence  will  be  their  own  accuser,  and 
let  them  forever  afterward  hold  their  peace,  and  employ  thoir  time, 
in  “making  their  own  calling  and  election  sure.” 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


265 


Free  thought,  free  speech  and  free  press  have  been  defended  and 
preserved  by  the  ablest  of  earth.  Tlirough  ignorance  and  mental 
darkness,  through  bloody  wars,  through  torture,  terror  and  tyranny, 
free  thought  has  upheld  the  Promethean  Torch  of  Reason  with  steadj' 
hand,  and  undeciding  step,  until  now  it  is  leading  the  world  with  vic- 
torious colors.  Those  who  have  advanced  and  labored  for  better 
things  for  humanity  have  ever  been  the  victims  of  religious  prejudice 
and  tyranny ; yet,  through  all  the  ages.  Freethinkers  have  kept  their 
hands  unstained  with  human  blood,  and  have  never  persecuted  a hu- 
man being  for  opinion’s  sake ; but  let  history  tell  of  the  sufferings 
and  persecutions  of  Freethinkers,  from  the  burning  of  Bruno  to  the 
imprisonment  of  the  editor  of  the  Blue  Grass  Blade.  But  for  the 
battle  fought  for  free  speech  and  free  press  by  that  splendid  trinity 
of  Freethinkers — Benjamin  Franklin,  Thomas  Jefferson  and  Thomas 
Paine — the  human  mind  to-da}'  would  be  in  chains,  and  the  printing 
press  the  exclusive  property  of  those  in  ecclesiastical  and  civil 
power. 

The  superstitions,  fables  and  fears  of  the  past  are  steadily  re- 
treating before  the  “march  of  mind,”  and  the  banner  of  Rationalism 
is  now  thrown  to  the  breeze  by  the  scholars,  poets,  orators,  editors 
and  brain-workers  of  our  time,  and  it  is  even  being  gras]jed  by  cler- 
ical hands  in  cathedrals,  churches  and  chapels,  and  being  waved  in 
synods,  conferences,  and  ecclesiastical  battle-grounds.  Rationalism 
has  advanced  this  far  in  the  United  States.  The  newspa])er  is  far 
more  powerful  than  the  jtulpit.  The  monopoly  of  the  jHilpit  has 
been  destroyed  by  the  press,  which  is  the  greatest  lever  of  civiliza- 
tion. 

This  released  prisoner  was  the  last  man  in  the  American  republic 
who  was  tried  for  the  alleged  crime  of  blas})hcmy.  The  decision  of 
.Judge  Parker,  rendered  here  in  the  city  of  Lexington  in  this  case,  is 
one  of  the  ablest  in  American  jurisprudence,  and  it  was  so  favorably 
commented  on  Jjy  the  press  of  our  community,  and  commended  for 
its  true  American  ring,  that  it  is  conceded  no  man  in  the  United 
States  will  ever  again  be  tried  for  blasphemy.  Such  a barbarism  is 
sleeping  in  the  grave  with  witch-burning,  and  now  the  President  of 
the  United  States  has  condemned  the  outrage  of  imprisoning  an 
American  citizen  for  printing  his  honest  thoughts  by  releasing  this 
editor  from  prison,  and  let  us  hope  that  this  alleged  crime  will  slum- 
ber in  the  grave  of  the  cruel  past,  and  in  the  future  Lexington  will 
be  crowned  with  honor  for  the  triumph  of  true  American  princi23les 
all  through  the  martyrdom  of  Charles  C.  Moore.  President  JIcKin- 
ley  has  planted  himself  on  the  foundation  stone  of  our  Government 
in  releasing  this  prisoner. 

The  students,  not  of  theology,  but  of  sociology,  are  the  greatest 
benefactors  of  our  race,  and  here  in  this  American  republic,  with  its 


266 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  ; 31498. 


millions  of  dollars’  worth  of  uiitaxed  churches,  and  law  the  echo  of 
religious  dogma,  we  need  a Secretary  of  Sociology  in  the  President’s 
Cabinet  much  more  than  a Secretary  of  War,  who  calls  the  dower  of 
young  manhood  to  the  battlefield  and  arms  them  with  deadly  weap- 
ons to  take  the  lives  of  their  brothers,  or  wrest  from  unoffending 
people  their  religion,  their  ]woperty,  their  homes,  their  hopes  and 
their  lives. 

We  need  education,  investigation  and  free  discussion  on  all  the 
problems  and  mysteries  of  this  strange  existence  we  call  life,  and  it 
is  a crime  to  persecute  scientists,  sociologists  and  thinkers  who  are 
seeking  a way  to  elevate  and  liberate  the  race  from  degrading  con- 
ditions. Our  whole  educational  system  needs  to  be  reconstructed, 
and  the  young  instructed  in  all  the  facts  in  nature  that  affect  their 
lives,  and  the  lives  of  generations  yet  to  be  born,  that  they  may  not 
be  launched  upon  the  tempestous,.  treacherous  sea  of  life  without 
rudder  or  compass.  Facing  actual  conditions  as  they  are  to-day  un- 
der our  present  system,  what  do  we  find? 

After  1900  years  of  organized  theology  humanity  is  full  of  fears 
to-day.  The  world  is  filled  with  sad  hearts,  with  sighs  and  tears. 
Our  civilization  is  mentally  morally  and  physically  diseased.  There 
is  a rapidly  increasing  demand  for  ijisane  asylums,  prisons  and  scaf- 
folds. All  pitiless  the  usurer  demands  his  ])ound  of  flesh.  The 
brothel  thrives  in  the  shadow  of  the  cliurch,  society  tramples  mental 
and  moral  worth  under  foot  and  bows  to  mammon.  All  the  Chris- 
tian nations  have  standing  armies  and  sailing  navies  armed  to  the 
teeth  witli  the  most  powerful  death-dealing  weapons  human  ingenuity 
can  devise,  ready  to  throttle  the  life  out  of  each  other,  or  dismember 
the  kingdoms  and  empires  of  so-called  heatlien  nations,  and  reduce 
tliese  unoffending  peoi)le  to  serfdom  to  satisfy  insatiable  avarice.  Ig- 
norance, vice  and  poverty,  tlie  Shylocks  of  the  race,  are  populating 
the  world.  Poverty  is  tlie  toiling,  cringing,  helpless  slave  to  wealth, 
and  a wail  arises  from  Christendom  : 

“Oh  ! for  tlie  rarity 
Of  Christian  charity. 

Under  the  sun.” 

The  priest,  the  law,  and  the  hangman  seem  as  jiowerless  against 
the  forces  of  evil  as  a feeble  human  hand  against  the  law  of  gravita- 
tion. With  all  these  sad  facts  before  us,  is  it  a crime  to  seek  a better 
way  to  bring  hojie  and  happiness  to  this  sad  old  world?  This  is  what 
Rationalists  are  trying  to  do,  though  they  too  often  receive  condem- 
tion  and  sometimes  a prison  for  their  service.  To  elevate  his  fel- 
lows and  to  remove  some  of  the  tragedy  of  life,  Charles  C.  Moore  has 
lived  and  labored,  sacrificed  and  suffered. 

If  to  avow  your  principles  and  discharge  your  duty  to  your  fel. 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498, 


267 


lows  in  the  face  of  prison,  or  impending  death,  is  to  be  a hero,  this 
released  prisoner  is  a hero.  If  to  love  your  fellow  creatures  better 
than  yourself  is  goodness,  he  has  shown  this  self-sacrifice.  Like  the 
immortal  Bruno,  this  released  prisoner  appeared  before  his  time,  and 
was  born  for  agitation,  and  as  well  try  to  stay  the  eternal  forces  of 
nature  as  to  bring  this  intrepid  soul  to  bay.  From  Bruno’s  stake  to 
Voltaire’s  lustrous  star,  from  Thomas  Paine’s  liberty  cry  mid  the 
storms  of  war,  to  the  imprisonment  of  Charles  C.  Mooi’e,  the  star  of 
Rationalism  has  been  ascending  and  shedding  its  light  upon  the  next 
man’s  mind.  The  able  liberal  press  of  the  United  States  and  Europe 
is  bringing  into  the  ranks  of  Rationalism  the  superior  intelligence  of 
all  nations  and  professions,  and  the  brainiest  ecclesiastics  of  our  time 
are  falling  into  line.  The  reign  of  reason  is  at  last  being  ushered  in. 
There  is  hope  for  our  race  as  long  as  one  proud  head  is  above  the 
waves  of  superstition.  Science,  the  great  inconoclast,  is  breaking  the 
idols  of  the  past,  and  with  her  torch  she  is  chasing  fear  from  the  hu- 
man heart  and  illuminating  the  caverns  of  superstition  and  trans- 
forming them  into  temples  of  thought. 

Rationalism  has  discovered  that  knowledge,  and  not  faith,  is  the 
salvation  of  humanity,  and  Rationalism  is  saying  to  Orthodoxy,  “We 
are  weary  of  hearing  what  you  believe  ; tell  us  what  you  know.” 

Intolerance  alone  prevents  intellectual  hospitality  between  or- 
thodoxy and  free  thought.  This  should  not  be.  If  we  knew  each 
other  better,  we  would  love  each  other  more.  We  are  all  but  com- 
passless mariners  over  life’s  unsounded  sea,  and  under  our  jjresent 
system  the  fears,  responsibilities,  cares  and  sorrows  laid  upon  human 
hearts  are  enough  to  swing  the  planet  from  its  orbit.  If  we  could  all 
exemplify  in  our  lives  the  lines  of  the  immortal  Pope, 

“Teach  me  to  feel  anotlier’s  woe, 

To  hide  the  fault  I see. 

That  mercy  I to  others  show. 

That  mercy  show  to  me,” 

there  would  be  no  more  intolerance,  persecution  or  imprisonment  for 
opinion’s  sake.  To-night  I believe  that  after  suffering  injustice,  perse- 
cution and  imprisonment,  Charles  C.  Moore  would  extend  all  the 
kindness  in  his  great  nature  to  those  who  have  so  deej^ly  wronged 
him.  Fie  is  built  just  that  way.  A^et,  do  we  claim  that  tliis  editor 
has  no  faults?  No.  And  now  to  you,  our  friend,  who  has  been  made 
to  suffer  so  much,  we  say,  Hail!  and  thrice  welcome  to  your  old  Ken- 
tucky home  from  your  prison  exile.  Your  persecutors  sought  to 
cover  your  name  and  fame  with  infamy,  but  instead  you  return  to 
your  devoted  and  heroic  wife  and  children,  to  your  fi-iends  upon  your 
native  heath  with  your  silvered  locks  covered  with  honor.  Y''our  re- 
lease from  prison,  by  the  order  of  the  President  of  the  United  States, 


268 


BEHIND  THE  BxVRS:  31498. 


vindicMles  tlie  right  of  fri;e  mails,  free  speech  ami  free  press.  You 
were  the  victim  of  religious  prejudice,  because  you  lacked  broad- 
minded, liberty-loving,  constitution-reviving  men  for  prosecutor, 
judge  and  jury;  yet  these  men  had  sworn  on  taking  their  offices  to 
uphold  the  Constitution  which  declares,  “No  human  authority  can  in 
any  case  whatever  control  or  interfere  with  the  rights  of  conscience,” 
and  that  free  speech  and  free  press  are  inalienable  rights  of  American 
citizens.  Standing  on  the  broad  platform  of  Rationalism,  let  us  not 
be  uncharitable  to  your  accusers  or  persecutors.  Let  us  recognize 
the  fact  that  they  are  the  product  of  heredity  and  environment,  of  a 
diseased  religious- and  social  system.  It  would  bo  unphilosophical  to 
cherish  hard  or  revengeful  feelings  against  any  concerned  in  placing 
you  in  a convict’s  cell.  Let  us  be  charitable,  even  if  they  were  cruel 
and  unjust.  You  were  too  short-sighted  to  discover  the  gravity  of 
such  a proceeding.  Your  conviction  has  advanced  the  cause  of 
Rationalism  and  proven  that  the  power  of  American  principles  for 
the  protection  of  human  rights  is  invariable  and  will  endure  as  long 
as  the  love  of  liberty  dwells  in  the  human  heart. 

The  hosts  of  Rationalists  and  lovers  of  justice  rejoice  in  the  tri- 
umph of  American  principles,  and  greet  you  with  gratitude  and 
hope.  Return  to  your  ancestral  home  and  to  your  peaceful  pursuits 
an  honored  man.  Follow  the  j)low  and  guide  the  mighty  pen  by  rea- 
son driven,  remembering  that  our  civilization  begins  and  ends  with 
the  plow  and  the  pen,  and  when  sophistries  and  inyths  have  vanished, 
when  the  methods  of  statesmen  and  politicians  have  passed  into  ob- 
livion, and  the  sword  of  the  soldier  rusted  in  its  scabbard,  your  words 
and  deeds  w ill  sj)eak  and  live  in  the  lives  of  the  generations  of  the 
coming  century,  and  it  will  be  told  of  you  that  you  did  what  you 
could  to  wrest  the  iron  hand  of  superstition  from  the  enslaved  human 
mind  and  trembling  human  heart,  and  write  in  the  eternal  firmament 
in  glittering  stars  the  magical  word  “Liberty.” 


HON.  WOOD  DUNLAP’S  .\DDRESS. 

1 am  surprised  at  being  called  upon  to  deliver  an  address  this 
evening,  because  1 do  not  think  I agree  with  our  distinguished  guesli 
upon  any  proiiosition  he  lias  advanced  through  the  columns  of  the 
Blue  Clrass  Blade.  1 do  not  hesitate  to  say,  however,  that  I regard 
liim  as  one  of  the  best  men,  morall.v,  and  one  of  the  greatest  men  in- 
tellectually, the  State  has  ever  produced.  1 am  simply  here  to  assist 
in  the  welcome  of  C.  C.  Moore,  a citizen,  from  imprisonment  that  I 
have  always  thought  unjust  and  uncalled  for. 

The  beautiful  address  delivered  by  Mrs.  Henry  suggests  a thought 
with  which  I am  in  harmony,  in  regard  to  the  freedom  of  the  press. 

Toleration  is  the  keystone  upon  which  is  founded  our  American 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


209 


institutions ; toleration  in  its  broadest  and  most  srlorious  sense.  In 
colonial  times  it  was  intolerance  that  embittered  the  lives  of  our  an- 
cestors, and  even  now  its  baneful  shadow  is  upon  the  land. 

The  proscriptive  vices  of  the  middle  ages  have  flowed  down  with 
the  blood  of  the  race,  and  have  tainted  the  life  that  now  is  with  a 
suspicion  and  distrust  of  freedom.  Liberty  in  the  eyes  of  men  has 
meant  the  privilege  of  agreeing  with  the  majority.  Men  have  de- 
sired for  free  thought,  but  fear  has  stood  at  the  door. 

It  i-emains  for  the  United  States,  the  greatest  advocate  of  free- 
dom, and  the  grandest  country  on  God’s  foot-stool,  to  build  a high- 
way broad  and  free,  into  every  field  of  liberal  inquiry,  so  that  the 
poorest  of  men  who  walk  therein  will  be  more  secure  in  his  life  and 
liberty  and  pursuit  of  happiness  than  the  soldiers  who  sleep  behind 
the  rampart. 

Persecution  has  no  part  nor  lot  on  this  side  of  the  sea;  the  pil- 
lory nor  the  thumbscrew.  Essential  freedom  is  the  right  to  differ. 
Nor  must  this  right  be  conceded  with  coldness  nor  disdain,  but  freely, 
cordially,  and  with  utmost  good  will.  No  loss  of  rank  nor  social 
ostracism  must  darken  the  pathway  of  the  humblest  seeker  after 
truth.  The  right  of  freethought,  free  speech  and  free  inquiry  is  as 
clear  as  the  noon-day  sun,  and  as  bounteous  as  the  waters  of  the  sea. 
Without  a full  and  cheerful  recognition  of  this  right,  America  is  only 
a name,  her  glories  a dream,  her  institutions  a mockery. 


EDITOR  MOORE  TALKS. 

Editor  Moore  was  modest  in  his  response.  He  said  he 
did  not  intend  to  make  a speech,  but  would  give  a short  talk. 
He  thanked  his  friends  for  their  kindness,  and  said  that  he 
felt  that  his  imprisonment  had  not  been  without  its  rewards 
in  more  ways  than  one.  He  would  not  take  $100,000  for  his 
experience.  He  wanted  nothing  but  kind  words  to  be  spoken 
of  his  persecutors,  and  made  that  special  request  of  his 
friends.  He  had  been  treated  with  every  kindness  and  con- 
sideration by  Warden  Coffin,  and  had  enjoyed  unusual  privi- 
leges while  in  the  Ohio  State  Penitentiary.  He  would  take 
the  lecture  platform  soon — not  because  he  cared  for  public  ad- 
vertising, but  because  he  would  have  something  to  say.  “I 
have  been  the  best  treated  prisoner  from  Socrates  to  Dreyfus,” 
repeated  he.  After  the  reception  and  addresses  the  banquet 
was  served  in  the  main  dining  room  of  the  hotel,  plates  being 
laid  for  75  people.  Hon.  Wood  Dunlap  and  J.  Hub  Prather 


270 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


were  among  the  speakers  at  the  close,  after  which  Editor 
Moore  and  his  family  drove  out  to  their  farm,  “Quakeracre.” 
Warden  Coffin  was  unable  to  accompany  Editor  Moore  to 
Lexington,  as  anticipated,  but  wall  come  later. 

The  Committee  on  Reception  last  night  was  composed  of 
Messrs.  M.  Kaufman,  Julius  Marks,  P.  Parrott,  E.  B.  Wrenn, 
W.  W.  Goddard  and  Mrs.  Josephine  K.  Henry. 


[From  the  Lexington  Herald.] 

TEARS  AND  MUSIC 


MINGLE  AS  EDITOR  MOORE  RETURNS  HOME. — A WELCOME  FIT 
FOR  A KING. 


Charles  Chilton  Moore  has  returned  to  Lexington. 

His  return  was  marked  by  a demon.stratiou  which  would 
have  done  honor  to  a conquering  army  returning  from  some 
field  of  battle  with  its  flag  unfurled  and  proudly  flying  to  the 
breeze. 

Mr.  Moore  returned  at  9:16  o’clock  Saturday  night  from 
Columbus,  Ohio,  where  he  has  .served  five  months  as  a con- 
vict for  daring  to  express  his  opinion  through  the  columns  of 
his  paper. 

The  reception  he  was  accorded  at  the  depot  showed  how 
many  of  the  citizens  of  Lexington  honored  this  erratic  and 
singular  character.  The  train  was  due  to  arrive  shortly  after 
6 o’clock,  but  because  of  an  accident  it  was  delayed  almost 
three  hours. 

The  news  that  Mr.  Moore  was  to  come  spread  rapidly, 
and  when  the  appointed  time  for  the  train  to  arrive  came 
about  two  hundred  persons  had  assembled  at  the  depot. 
When  it  was  reported  that  the  train  was  late  the  crowd  began 
to  thicken,  and  when  it  finally  arrived  more  than  one  thou- 
sand people  were  at  the  depot  waiting  to  extend  a cordial  wel- 
come to  Mr.  Moore.  Saxton’s  band  was  there  and  made  the 
wait  less  tedious  by  playing  several  .selections;  finally  “My 
Old  Kentucky  Home,”  and  the  crowd  cheered.  When  Mr. 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


271 


Moore  appeared  on  the  platform  a shout  went  from  the  gath- 
ering which  completely  drowned  the  music.  As  he  stepped 
to  the  platform,  friends  rushed  toward  him,  all  eager  to  grasp 
him  the  hand, 

AFFECTING  SCENES. 

The  first  person  to  reach  his  side  was  W.  W.  Goddard, 
a life-long  friend.  As  he  grasped  the  hand  of  the  aged  jour- 
nalist, tears  sprang  to  his  eyes,  and  one  of  the  most  pathetic 
scenes  followed.  The  two  old  men,  both  far  past  the  noontide 
of  life,  clasped  each  other  in  a loving  embrace,  and  their  tears 
were  mingled.  Mr.  Moore  caught  sight  of  his  wife  in  the 
crowd,  and  as  he  made  way  to  her  side  tears  sprang  afresh  to 
his  eyes,  and  with  voice  filled  with  emotion,  he  clasped  her  in 
his  arms,  and  those  present  bowed  their  heads  in  reverent  si- 
lence. 

With  his  arm  around  the  neck  of  his  wife,  Mr.  Moore 
pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd  to  the  waiting  carriage  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  depot,  stopping  at  every  step  to  grasp 
the  hand  of  some  friend  who  bade  him.  a hearty  welcome. 
When  the  carriage  was  finally  reached,  he  entered  it  with  a 
number  of  friends,  and  other  carriages  filled  with  friends  and 
newspaper  men  started  for  the  city. 

A special  car  had  been  chartered  for  the  baud,  and  as  it 
was  whirled  down  Broadway  it  played  inspiring  strains,  and 
shouts  of  welcome  came  from  every  throat.  The  streets  were 
crowded,  and  all  along  the  route  people  stood  on  all  the  side- 
walks and  in  doorways,  and  applauded  him,  and  when  the  car- 
riages finally  drew  up  in  front  of  the  Phoenix  Hotel  the  crowd 
was  so  dense  that  it  was  impo.ssible  to  force  a passage-way 
through  it.  Finally  an  entrance  was  gained,  and  Mr.  Moore 
and  his  friends  went  to  the  parlor  on  the  .second  floor,  while 
the  band  began  to  play  on  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  the  build- 
ing. The  crowd  grew  denser  each  moment,  and  when  Mr. 
Moore  stepped  to  the  balcony  cheering  broke  out  again,  drown- 
ing the  sound  of  the  music. 

MADE  A SHORT  SPEECH. 

He  was  called  on  for  a speech,  and,  with  hat  in  hand,  he 


272 


BEHIND  THE  BABS,  31498. 


leaned  far  over  the  balustrade  and  made  a few  touching  re- 
marks, thanking  everybody  for  the  cordial  welcome  extended 
to  him.  He  said  that  he  forgave  everjd^ody  for  the  alleged 
wrongs  that  had  been  done  him,  even  the  preachers,  and 
wished  to  be  forgiven  by  all  for  anjdhing  he  may  have  done 
wrong. 

He  said  that  he  w'as  the  most  honored  prisoner  that  ever 
lived,  from  Socrates  to  Dreyfus,  because  of  the  liberties  he 
had  been  granted  while  in  prison,  and  the  favors  he  had  been 
shown.  He  told  of  the  treatment  he  received  while  confined, 
and  spoke  in  eulogizing  terms  of  the  Warden.  He  told  of 
the  meeting  with  his  wife,  and  that  she  had  said  to  him  that 
she  w'as  glad,  under  the  circumstances,  to  be  the  wife  of  a con- 
vict. 

While  he  was  speaking  a street  car  filled  with  pleasure- 
seekers  stopped  in  front  of  the  hotel,  and  the  young  ladies 
and  gentlemen  aboard  cheered  him  to  the  echo.  Mr.  Moore 
then  bade  the  large  crowd  on  the  sidew'alk  good-night  and 
retired  to  the  parlor,  which  was  full  of  friends.  A general 
hand.shaking  followed.  Mr.  P.  Parrott,  one  of  Mr.  Moore’s 
warme.st  friends,  and  who  had  been  instrumental  in  getting  up 
the  celebration,  led  him  to  the  center  of  the  floor  and  bade 
him  be  seated.  He  then,  in  a few  brief  remarks,  introduced 
Hon.  Moses  Kaufman,  who  delivered  the  address  of  welcome. 

MRS.  HENRY  SPEAKS. 

When  Mr.  Kaufman  concluded,  Mrs.  Josephine  K.  Henry, 
of  Versailles,  was  introduced,  and  for  more  than  a half  hour 
she  spoke.  She  was  interrupted  several  times  with  applause, 
and  when  she  concluded  Mr.  Moore  arose  and  briefly  addressed 
the  assemblage.  He  recited  his  trial  and  conviction  and  his 
confinement  in  the  penitentiary,  and  the  treatment  he  re- 
ceived. He  said  that  he  had  been  allowed  privileges  which 
had  never  been  extended  to  a man  who  had  been  confined  in 
the  Ohio  Penitentiary.  He  said  he  was  proud  of  his  prison 
garb,  and  w'ould  have  w'orn  it  at  the  reception  had  it  not  been 
for  his  wife. 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


273 


EVEN  LOVES  RUCKER. 

He  said  that  he  intended  to  go  on  the  lecture  platform  and 
would  wear  the  stripes.  He  said  that  he  had  become  so  ac- 
customed to  the  prison  suit  that  he  felt  lost  without  it,  and 
citizen’s  clothing  made  him  feel  like  he  was  dressed  up.  He 
said  that  he  bore  malice  toward  none,  not  even  to  Mr.  Rucker. 
He  said  that  he  forgave  all,  and  that  in  the  future  he  would  live 
for  his  friends.  He  referred  to  the  fact  that  he  had  been  al- 
lowed to  retain  his  hair  and  beard,  and  said  that  he  w'as  the 
most  honored  prisoner  alive,  from  the  fact  that  every  prisoner 
in  the  penitentiary  w'as  made  to  obey  the  rules,  and  yet  he 
was  shown  favors  from  the  moment  he  entered  the  walls  until 
he  left. 

THE  WARDEN  THANKED. 

After  the  reading  of  the  letter  a resolution,  which  had 
been  adopted  by  a number  of  friends,  was  read,  thanking 
Warden  Coffin  and  Dr.  Wilson  for  many  kindnesses  shown. 
The  reading  of  the  resolution  concluded  the  ceremonies  and 
the  party  then  adjourned  to  the  dining  room,  where  a sumptu- 
ous banquet  had  been  spread.  About  seventy-five  guests  sat 
at  the  table  and  several  speeches  of  welcome  were  made. 


[Special  to  the  Cincinnati  Enquirer.] 
WELCOME 


FIT  FOR  A KING  GIVEN  INFIDEL  MOORE  AT  LEXINGTON, 


Lexington,  Ky.,  July  8,  1899. — Stripped  of  a felon’s 
garb  Thursday,  Charles  Chilton  Moore,  freethinker,  free-love 
advocate,  editor,  ex-preacher  and  literary  eccentric  returned 
home  at  9:30  o’clock  to-night  from  the  Ohio  Penitentiary  and 
received  a welcome  fit  for  a king.  Five  hundred  people — 
men,  women  and  children — waited  for  two  long  hours  at  the 
depot  to  greet  the  gray-haired  Kentuckian.  As  the  train  rat- 
tled into  the  city  the  strains  of  “My  Old  Kentucky  Home” 
were  blended  with  hurrahs,  and  when  the  infidel  alighted  he 
was  almost  torn  to  pieces  by  his  friends. 


TiA  BEHIND  THE  BARS  ; 31498. 

Entering  a carriage,  drawn  by  two  white  horses,  and 
headed  Iry  a brass  band,  he  was  driven  to  the  Phoenix  Hotel. 
A dozen  carriages  filled  with  Freethinkers  and  newspaper  rrren 
followed.  Every  .street  corner  was  a “jam,”  and  the  ex-con- 
vict’s retirrn  was  like  a triumphant  entry  into  a conquered 
city. 

At  the  hotel  Editor  Moore  made  a speech  to  two  thousand 
people,  in  which  he  said  that  he  and  Dreyfus  were  the  two 
most  famous  people  in  the  world,  both  being  prosecuted  by 
religionists. 

A reception  and  bairquet  followed,  which  lasted  until  mid- 
night. Mr.  Moore  was  convicted  in  the  United  States  Court 
at  Cincinnati  in  February  for  sending  obscene  matter  through 
the  mails.  His  sentence  was  commuted  to  .six  months  bj^  the 
President. 


[From  the  Cincinnati  Tinies-Star, ] 

THEY  FLOCKED  ABOUT  THE  BLUE  GRASS  EDITOR. 


C.  C.  MOORE,  JUST  REEEASED  FROM  PRISON,  IS  WELCOMED 
BY  HIS  FRIENDS. 


Scores  of  admirers  flocked  about  Editor  C.  C.  Moore  at 
the  Palace  Hotel  Saturday,  congratulating  him  on  his  release 
from  the  Ohio  Penitentiary.  Mr.  Moore  was  .sent  up  from 
Cincinnati  by  Judge  A.  C.  Thomp.son,  of  the  United 
States  Court,  for  sending  oEscene  publications  through  the 
mails.  Despite  the  charges  made  against  him,  Mr.  Moore  had 
many  friends  and  admirers  who  stuck  to  him,  and  finally  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  a commutation  of  his  sentence. 

Editor  Moore  wrote  a book  while  in  prison,  which  he  calls 
“Behind  the  Bars;  31498.”  While  in  the  penitentiary  he 
still  edited  his  paper,  the  Blue  Grass  Blade,  in  which  he  pub- 
lished .sharp  criticisms  on  the  Federal  officials  who  pro.secuted 
him.  He  left  for  Lexington  Saturday,  where  he  was  met  by 
a baud.  A banquet  was  tendered  him  at  the  Phoenix  Hotel. 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


275 


[From  the  Bine  Gras.s  Blade.] 
OVATION  AND  ORATION 


MEBT  me  at  MV  “old  KENTUCKY  HOME.’’ 


I write  this  before  having  had  time  to  read  what  the 
new.spapers  have  had  to  say  about  the  very  remarkable  dem- 
onstration in  the  city  of  Lexington  that  welcomed  me  back 
from  the  Ohio  Penitentiary  to  my  own  home. 

It  had  .seemed  to  me  probably  unnecessary  to  de,scribe 
what  .so  many  others  had  so 

At  that  black  mark  I was  taken  so  sick  while  I was  writ- 
ing this  in  the  Lexington  Library  that  I had  to  quit  and  go 
to  a hospital.  Of  the  two  hospitals  in  the  city,  one  is  managed 
by  the  Protestants  and  the  other  by  the  Catholics,  and  I was 
watched  all  night  and  fed  on  ice  by  a sweet  Si,ster  Pachomia, 
and  now  about  fifteen  hours  after  coming  here  I am  able  to 
write  again.  The  Herald  of  this  morning  will  kindly  give  an 
account  of  my  illness.  It  seems  hardly  possible,  but  it  looks 
to  me  that  it  is  a recurrence  of  an  illness  that  I had  from  pois- 
oned milk  in  the  penitentiary,  in  which  a number  of  persons 
were  .sick  from  poisonous  fungus  growth  in  the  milk. 

At  Columbus,  for  days  before  my  release,  I was  contin- 
ually congratulated  by  friends,  officers,  and  prisoners  in.side 
and  b}?  persons  who  came  to  see  me  from  the  outside,  and  on 
my  release  a carriage  under  the  management  of  Brother  F.  S. 
Montgomery  was  waiting  for  me,  and  he  took  me  and  a party 
of  my  friends  on  a drive  to  see  the  attractions  of  the  beautiful 
city  of  Columbus,  and  then  drove  us  to  the  home  of  Brother 
J.  M.  Byler  and  his  lovely  wife  and  children,  and  they  all  es- 
corted me  to  the  “Big  Four’’  train  at  12:45.  We  had  an  ele- 
gant dinner  at  Brother  Byler’ s. 

At  Cincinnati  I was  met  at  the  depot  by  friends,  and  at 
the  business  house  of  Brother  Kauplin  and  at  the  Palace  Ho- 
tel we  had  a nice  and  joyous  reunion. 

At  4 o’clock  p.  M.  Saturday,  JuL^  8,  I started  over  the 
Queen  & Crescent  for  Lexington,  having  purposely  delayed 
my  departure  in  order  to  arrive  at  Lexington  at  the  time  to 


276 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


suit  the  program  of  my  reception.  Our  train  was  due  at  Lex- 
ington at  6:45  p.  M.,  l)Ut  we  were  delayed  three  hours  l>y  a 
freight  wreck. 

I had  anticipated  that  there  would  perhaps  be  about  fifty 
people  to  meet  me,  and  supposed  they  would  have  gone  away 
when  the  train  was  found  to  be  so  much  behind  time.  But 
the  scene  that  greeted  me  was  like  a dream  that  .so  dazed  me 
that,  to  this  time,  I have  not  been  able  to  realize  it. 

As  the  train  came  up  to  the  station  with  its  spacious  and 
handsome  surroundings,  I heard  a splendid  brass  band  play- 
ing “My  Old  Kentuck}^  Home,”  and  on  looking  out  of  the 
large  palace-car  window  I saw  a crowd  of  people  of  all  ages, 
races,  sexes  and  conditions,  that  was  the  beginning  of  an  ova- 
tion such  as  was  never  accorded  any  citizen  of  Lexington, 
not  even  Henry  Clay  when  he  would  come  home  from  the 
United  States  Senate. 

The  crowd  had  been  waiting  for  three  hours,  and  were 
standing  just  as  thick  as  people  could  stand — .so  thick  and  so 
pressed  up  against  the  sides  of  the  train  that  it  could  not  move 
out  until  the  crowd  began  to  follow  the  carriages  that  took  the 
reception  committee  and  the  orators  of  the  occasion  and  my- 
self to  the  Phoenix  Hotel,  nearly  a mile  and  a half  away. 

The  route  was  down  South  Broadway  to  Main,  the  hand- 
somest two  .streets  in  the  city,  and  then  up  Main  to  the  Phoe- 
nix, the  hand.somest  hotel  in  the  city.  The  procession  of  hand- 
some carriages,  with  their  tops  turned  back,  and  elegantly  ca- 
parisoned hor.ses  and  liveried  drivers,  was  preceded  by  a large, 
open  electric  car,  upon  which  was  the  band,  and  that  ran 
slowly  to  allow  the  carriages  to  keep  up,  and  to  avoid  danger 
in  the  crowd  of  people. 

The  streets  were  lined  with  people  of  all  kinds,  from  high- 
est to  poorest  and  most  humble,  for  that  distance  of  nearly  a 
mile  and  a half,  and  one  continuous  cheer  greeted  us  all  the 
way. 

.Mrs.  Josephine  K.  Henry  and  I occupied  the  back  seat 
of  the  carriage,  and  Senator  Moses  Kaufman  and  Col.  Julius 
Marks  the  front  seat. 

Mrs.  Henry  looked  just  as  pretty  as  she  did  when  I was 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498, 


277 


a preacher,  and  she  one  of  my  sweethearts  during  the  civil 
war,  and  Hon.  Moses  Kaufman  is  called  a “lovely  man’’ 
by  more  women  than  any  other  man  in  Lexington.  As  for 
myself  I was  looking  just  as  usual,  and  of  course  my  modest}'’ 
forbids  me  to  say  exactly  how  that  -(A'as.  I had  the  very  pretty 
straw  hat  that  they  had  given  me  as  a part  of  my  parting 
wardrobe  on  leaving  the  penitentiary,  and  I used  that  hat  in 
recognition  of  salutations  all  along  the  route. 

There  was  only  one  drawback  to  the  pleasure  of  the  occa- 
sion, and  that  was  the  absence  of  Warden  Coffin  and  Dr.  Wil- 
son, and  there  is  a general  feeling  that  a large  part  of  this 
demonstration  will  have  to  be  done  over  again  when  those  two 
gentlemen  get  here,  as  they  are  booked  to  do  before  long. 

Those  two  men  have  simply  captured  the  hearts  of  the 
people  of  this  city,  and  they  will  have  to  come  here,  even  if  it 
becomes  necessary  for  Kentucky  to  issue  a requisition  on  Gov- 
ernor Bushnell  to  bring  them  here.  Nothing  but  most  urgent 
stress  of  bu.siness  kept  them  from  coming,  and  I can  assure 
our  people  here  that  they  will  soon  be  with  us,  and  a banquet 
at  the  Phoenix  will  be  given  them.  Apart  from  the  interest 
they  have  showm  in  me,  they  are  two  men  that  Kentucky  hon- 
ors herself  in  honoring. 

Main  street  w'as  thronged  with  cheering  people,  including 
the  best  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  city,  and  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  Phoenix  the  people  were  packed  as  thick  as  they  could 
stand  in  every  foot  of  standing  room,  from  one  side  of  the 
street  to  the  other. 

My  wife  and  famih^  stood  in  the  front  door  that  led  to  the 
parlors  of  the  hotel,  to  meet  me.  That  is  the  woman  who  has 
immortalized  herself  b}^  saying,  “Under  tlie  circumstances,  I 
am  proud  to  be  a convict’s  wife,’’ — words  that  will  live  in  his- 
tory along  with  my  own  words,  when  the}'  put  the  handcuffs 
on  me,  “You  are  .shackling  iAmerican  liberty,  not  me,’’  and  I 
believe  the  reception  that  I have  had  at  Lexington  is  a notifi- 
cation to  the  church  that  no  other  man  in  x-\merica  will  ever 
be  impri.soned  by  the  United  States  Government  for  his  relig- 
ious opinions. 

I have  repeatedly  warned  the  clergy  of  this  country  of 


278 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


what  their  interference  with  the  civil  rights  of  this  country  is 
liable  to  bring  upon  them.  None  of  them,  I suppose,  dared 
to  venture  out  to  witness  my  welcome  home,  but  they  can  im- 
agine from  the  new,spaper  accounts  that  the  consequences  to 
them  will  be  as  fearful  as  when  in  the  French  Revolution 
the  people  rose  against  the  clergy  and  cut  off  the  heads  of 
12,000  of  them,  if  they  persist  in  meddling  with  the  .secular 
affairs  of  this  country. 

It  is  significant  that  in  the  pulpits  of  this  city,  the  next 
day  (Sunday),  no  priest  or  preacher  dared  to  utter  a protest 
against  a demonstration  that,  of  course,  was  an  open  and  pub- 
lic rebuke  of  them. 

Soon  after  I got  into  the  parlors  on  the  second  floor  of 
the  hotel,  into  which  only  as  many  were  admitted  as  would 
comfortably  fill  the  parlors,  there  was  a shout  from  the  crowd 
out  in  the  street,  demanding  that  I .should  .speak  to  them.  I 
stepped  out  upon  the  beautiful  balcony  and  made  them  a little 
talk,  which,  though  in  my  loude.st  voice,  could  not  be  heard  to 
the  limits  of  the  crowd,  and  though  my  reputation  is  that  I 
am  the  only  living  Kentuckian  who  is  neither  a Colonel  nor 
an  orator,  they  cheered,  with  one  exception,  as  enthusiastic- 
all}'  as  if  I were  saying  it  as  well  as  Billy  Breckinridge  could 
do  it.  The  one  exception  that  I did  not  hear,  but  only  know 
of  from  uewsjraper  reports,  was  a female  voice,  which  seemed 
to  be  that  of  some  Catholic,  when  I said,  ‘‘Just  as  Dreyfus 
was  persecuted  by  Catholic  Jesuits  in  Europe,  so  was  I impris- 
oned by  Protestant  Jesuits  in  America,” 

The  fact  that  the  voice  said  ‘‘That  is  a lie,”  as  .soon  as  I 
had  finished  the  sentence  about  Dreyfus,  and  before  I had 
mentioned  my  own  ca.se,  indicated  that  it  was  from  a Catholic. 
But,  apart  from  this,  there  has  been  no  difference  between 
Catholics  and  Protestants  in  their  treatment  of  me  from  the 
day  I started  to  prison  until  now,  while  in  the  whole  of  my 
career,  from  my  beginning  of  the  Blue  Grass  Blade  to  this 
date,  the  Catholics  have  done  me  far  less  injustice  than  Prot- 
estants have  done. 

The  addresses  of  welcome  in  the  parlors  of  the  hotel  were 
gems  of  beauty,  and  all  appear  in  this  issue  of  the  Blade  ex- 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  314y8. 


279 


cept  that  of  Hon.  J.  Hub  Prather.  In  my  reply  they  did 
not 

“ATew  me  witli  a critic’s  eye, 

But  passed  my  imperfections  by.” 

I telephoned  Mr.  Prather  and  got  hi.s  promise  to  write  me 
his  address  for  publication,  but  have  now  received  the  follow- 
ing note: 

Mk.  Moore  The  Courier-Journal  telegraphed  tliat  papers 
would  arrive  by  a special.  Cincinnati  Tribune  man  and  Louisville 
Commercial  representative,  respectively,  are  here,  and  I have  engage- 
ments with  each  of  them  this  morning.  I have  to  meet  the  C.-.J. 
train.  These  things  happen  unexpectedly,  and,  almost  necessarily, 
preclude  the  possibility  of  my  writing  anything  for  publication,  and 
force  me  to  ask  to  be  absolved,  or,  at  least,  great  indulgence. 

I do  not  recollect  any  special  thing  that  X said. 

I consider  you  a great  hero,  and  that  you  are  of  the  immortal  few 
who  are  not  born  to  die,  and  I said  that  when  other  names  were 
erased  from  history,  yours  would  live  through  the  endless  ages  of 
eternity. 

Your  fame  needs  no  shrill  clarion  to  hand  it  down  to  time’s  re- 
motest bounds.  Your  friend,  “Hub.” 

I said,  among  other  things  in  lu}^  talk,  that  I had  some- 
times dreamed  that  after  I w^as  dead,  it  was  possible  that  some- 
body might  say  of  me  as  was  then  being  said,  but  that  I 
should  live  to  see  and  hear  such  honor  to  me,  was  something 
that  I had  never  anticipated  in  my  most  enthusiastic  aspira- 
tion, and  that  were  I to  die  now,  I would  not  onl}^  die  satisfied, 
but  realizing  that  I had  already  received  more  of  honor  than  I 
deserved  or  ever  expected. 

I impressed  upon  my  hearers  that  now  more  than  ever,  that 
we  had  triumphed  over  my  few  enemies,  all  of  whom  w'ere  of 
the  clergju  I did  not  feel  unkindly  to  any  human  being  on  the 
earth,  and  I thought  that  now  was  the  grand  opportunity  for 
us  to  show  to  the  world  that  the  philosophy  of  rationali.sm  has 
in  it  more  to  make  men  and  women  good  and  happy  fhan 
there  is  in  the  best  of  the  religions. 

My  allu.sions  to  Col.  Inger.soll  and  to  Cha  les  Watts,  re- 
■spectively  the  leaders  of  infidelity  in  America  and  in  Europe, 
were  not  unpremeditated.  I can,  and  will,  Ergive  Ingersoll, 


280 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


but  I can  never  forget  that  in  the  hour  of  my  need  of  his 
friendship,  he  deserted  me  as  no  brave  and  grand  and  generous 
and  bold  man  would  have  done. 

As  for  Watts,  intellectual  giant  that  he  is,  his  attack  upon 
me  while  I was  in  prison,  through  Editor  Foote’s  paper,  the 
“Freethinker,”  London,  England,  was  simply  brutal. 

My  experience  has  shown  me  that  while  infidels,  as  a 
mass,  have  stood  by  me  like  friends  tried  and  true,  there  are 
among  infidels,  as  among  Christians,  some  people  who  are  not 
what  I would  have  them  to  be,  and  I am  going  to  co-operate 
with  all,  religious  or  irreligious,  who  are  impelled  by  that  sen- 
timent of  Paine,  “The  world  is  my  country — to  do  good  is 
my  religion,”  and  that  sentiment  of  Confucius  and  Jesus, 
“Do  unto  others  as  j^ou  would  have  them  do  unto  you.” 

My  reception  at  Lexington  was  the  most  .signal  declara- 
tion that  the  world  has  ever  witnessed  since  Christianity  be- 
gan under  Constantine  1,500  years  ago,  that  at  last  the  time 
has  come  to  the  “land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave” 
when  an  infidel  has  as  much  right  to  think  and  to  say  what  he 
thinks,  as  the  Chri,stian  has,  and,  while  my  policy  is  for  peace, 
and  I believe  in  conquering  by  argument  rather  than  by  arms, 
I warn  tlie  clergj'  that  we  are  going  to  maintain  this  right  by 
force  if  that  be  necessary,  and  when  this  last  is  appealed  to, 
the  clergy  can  have  some  conception  of  the  outcome  of  the 
conflict  by  imagining  what  would  have  been  the  result  had 
they  attempted  to  stop  by  force  this  demonstration  on  the 
night  of  July  8,  1899. 

[Cincinnati  (O.)  CoinuierciaJ-Tribime.] 

IS  JUST  OUT  OF  PRISON. 

IC  ITOK  MOOKJC,  OF  THE  BLUE  GRASS  BLADE,  IN  TOWN. — 
JU.ST  OUT  OF  THE  COLUMBUS  PENITENTIARY — HE  TALKS 
OF  THE  PAST  AND  THE  FUTURE. 

Editor  Charles  C.  Moore,  of  the  famous  Blue  Grass  Blade, 
of  Lexington,  Ky.,  arrived  in  Cincinnati  yesterday  afternoon 
from  Columbus,  where  he  had  just  been  relea.sed  from  the 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


281 


penitentiary,  and  wa.s  seen  last  night  at  the  Palace  Hotel  by  a 
Commercial-Tribune  reporter,  Mr.  Moore  looks  little  the 
worse  for  his  imprisonment,  and  has  his  usual  patriarchal  ap- 
pearance; a great  shock  of  graj^  hair  and  a long,  full  beard,  tall 
and  lean  of  figure.  He  spoke  with  his  old-time  vigor  and  his 
spirit  was  as  aggre.ssive  as  ever. 

“My  prosecution,”  he  said  “was  plainly  a religious  per- 
secution, and  I predict  that  it  will  be  the  last  to  occur  to  any 
one  in  this  country.  Even  men  who  inspired  it,  such  as  Prof. 
Rucker,  now  express  regret  at  their  course. 

“While  in  the  penitentiary  Warden  Coffin  treated  me 
with  the  greatest  consideration,  and  he  and  the  other  officers 
gave  no  hint  of  feeling  disrespect  for  me.  No  one  seemed  to 
think  that  any  odium  attached  to  me,  as  they  knew  I was 
simply  a victim  of  religious  prejudice.  It  is  a fact  that  on 
the  prison  register  no  charge  was  placed  again.st  my  name, 
and  I had  the  greatest  liberty  of  action.  While  in  confine- 
ment I wrote  the  manuscript  of  a book  to  be  entitled  ‘Behind 
the  Bars  ; 31498,’  that  I will  now  pnbli.sh. 

“After  a short  time  I shall  take  the  lecture  platform  and 
deliver  my  speeches  in  the  .stripes  I wore.  Senator  Lindsay 
had  little  trouble  in  bringing  President  McKinley  to  see  the 
real  reason  for  mj-  conviction,  and  then  he  pardoned  me.  I 
husband  no  malice  toward  any  one,  but  as  long  as  life  shall 
last  I shall  never  cease  to  work  with  voice  and  pen  against 
what  I hold  to  be  wrong.  I wear  this  Toledo  Jones  button 
because  I admire  the  mental  and  moral  courage  of  the  man. 

“On  my  arrival  here  I was  met  at  the  depot  by  many  of 
my  loyal  friends,  and  to-morrow  I .shall  hold  a little  informal 
reception  here  in  the  hotel.  When  I reach  my  home  in  Lex- 
ington to-morrow  I will  be  met  by  a bra.ss  band  and  e.scorted 
to  the  Phoenix  Hotel,  where  I am  to  be  tendered  a banquet, 
and  the  address  of  welcome  will  be  delivered  by  Mrs.  Jese* 
phine  K.  Henry,  of  Versailles,  Ky.” 


282 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498, 


[From  t.he  Cleveland  Gatling  Gun.] 

THE  HOME-COMING  OF  A HEATHEN. 


BY  JUDGE  J.  SOULE  SMITH. 


It  was  my  pleasure  to  witness  the  home-coming  of  my 
heathen  friend,  C.  C.  Moore,  editor  of  the  Blue  Grass  Blade, 
and  bishop  of  a somewhat  diversified  flock.  He  was  just  out 
of  the  Ohio  Penitentiary,  where  he  had  been  serving  Uncle 
Sam  and  enjoying  himself  at  said  Uncle’s  expense;  and  though 
he  had  been  treated  like  a lord  by  the  Warden,  yet  he  was  ex- 
ceedingly glad  to  get  back  once  more  to  God’s  country,  where 
he  could  smell  once  more  the  breath  of  red  clover  and  feel  un- 
der his  foot  the  soft  sward  of  Kentucky  blue  gra.ss. 

I have  rarely  written  anything  concerning  Mr.  Moore, 
though  I have  known  him  for  thirty  years  in  more  or  less  in- 
timacy. His  religious  views  and  mine  are  entirely  antagonis- 
tic. I am  a free-thinker,  and,  as  .such,  a believer  in  Jesus 
Christ,  not  because  other  people  claim  to  believe,  but  because 
of  my  own  convictions  maturely  and  calmly  adopted.  In- 
fidels, as  a rule,  are. not  free-thinkers — they  adopt  a negative 
belief  and  are  as  .sensitive  about  it,  and  as  easily  angered  by 
opposition  as  the  most  bigoted  preacher  of  an  unscriptnral 
gospel.  And  I think  Mr.  Moore  and  many  of  his  admirers 
are  bigots,  ju.st  as  surely  as  Parson  Rucker,  who  caused  the 
heathen  editor  to  be  sent  to  the  penitentiary. 

But  Mr.  Moore’s  imprisonment  and  return  home  are  mat- 
ters of  broader  scope  and  deeper  import  than  Mr.  Moore’s 
belief  or  Mr.  Moore’s  personality;  and  the  narrowness  of 
Prof.  Rucker,  his  accu.ser,  demands  more  than  local  rebuke. 
The  trial  and  conviction  of  Charlie  Moore  have  become  a 
pregnant  issue  in  our  national  affairs,  and  the  reception  ac- 
corded him  at  Lexington,  by  the  most  conservative  commu- 
nity in  the  United  States,  was  the  verdict  of  that  people  on 
that  issue.  Before  his  trial  he  would  pass  quietly  along  the 
streets,  rarely  speaking  or  spoken  to;  on  his  return  from 
prisbn,  late  at  night,  on  a long  delayed  train,  a thou, sand  peo- 
ple waited  at  the  depot  for  hours  to  greet  him,  and  the  open 


BEHIND  THE  BARS : 31498. 


283 


carriage  in  which  he  sat  passed  for  a mile  through  lines  of 
others  shouting  a welcome  to  him.  At  the  hotel  traffic  was 
blocked  on  the  broad  street  until  he  appeared  on  the  balcony 
and  made  a speech,  and  hundreds  filed  past  him  in  the  hotel 
parlors  to  take  his  hand.  No  wonder  tears  dimmed  his  eyes 
and  choked  his  utterances  ! He  had  not  dreamed  of  such  a 
magnificent  reception. 

In  that  crowd  there  were  hardly  fifty  people  who  agreed 
with  him  in  his  religious  opinions,  and,  in  all  that  crowd, 
there  was  not  one  who  believed  that  Prof.  Rucker  had  sent 
Charlie  Moore  to  prison  from  a sincere  desire  to  protect  the 
morals  of  himself  or  somebody  else.  And  therein  was  the 
meat  of  the  whole  demonstration.  Had  people  thought  that 
Prof.  Rucker  was  honestly  mistaken,  that  he  really  believed 
that  the  punishment  of  Mr.  Moore  would  conserve  the  interest 
of  morality  they  would  have  deplored  the  occurrence,  felt  sorry 
for  Charlie  Moore,  and  gone  on  about  their  business.  But 
nobody  believed  that  then,  and  nobody  is  ever  likely  to  be- 
lieve it  hereafter. 

I took  some  interest  in  the  trial  of  this  heathen  man  at 
Cincinnati,  I knew  something  of  the  people  who  were  be- 
hind the  prosecution;  I have  read  nearly  every  copy  of  his 
paper  since  he  began  publishing  it — in  fact,  procured  and  read 
one  copy  of  an  issue  that  never  went  through  the  mails;  and, 
as  I have  said  before,  I have  known  him  for  thirty  years; 
however  greatly  I may,  and  do,  condemn  much  that  he  has 
said  and  more  that  he  has  printed,  I never  knew  him  to  .speak 
or  print  anything  that  was  obscene  or  calculated  to  excite  lust 
in  the  breast  of  any  auditor  or  reader.  I read  the  article  for 
which  he  was  indicted.  I think  they  said  it  was  too  lewd  and 
obscene  to  be  copied  into  the  indictment — though  mai^  be  I 
am  mistaken  about  that.  So  far  from  being  a defense  of  free 
love,  it  was  an  argument  for  the  marital  relation,  a plea  for 
the  hearth-stone,  and  a demand  for  sexual  purity.  It  was  not 
lewd,  it  was  not  obscene,  it  was  not  erotic — no  man  nor  maiden 
could  be  harmed  by  reading  it.  It  could  not  be  called  inde- 
cent, except  by  some  one  with  a soul  morbidly  alive  to  the 
pcssibilities  of  filth.  The  reader  of  this  maj^  pick  at  random 


284 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


the  “family”  magazines  of  this  or  next  month  and  on  the  ad- 
vertising pages  find  pictures  of  young  women  clothed  in  net 
undergarments,  trying  on  corsets,  washing  with  Smear’s  soap, 
or  shaking  Snook’s  foot-powder  into  their  shoes — all  intended 
to  be  attractive  by  appealing  to  the  sensual  passion.  He  may 
see  on  every  book-stall  periodicals  only  attractive  by  reason  of 
nude  or  semi-nude  pictures  of  actresses,  or  groups  of  women 
in  bathing  costumes  lying  about  on  the  sand.  Almost  any 
breezy  day  he  may  see  young  and  old  women  on  bicycles,  in 
the  public  streets,  exposing  their  persons  above  the  knee  to 
the  gaze  of  every  passer-by.  Every  one  of  these  sights  is  ex- 
pected and  intended  to  arouse  sexual  passion,  and  any  one  of 
them  compares  to  Charlie  Moore’s  “indecency”  just  as  the 
uudraped  Cyprian  of  the  slums  does  to  the  marble  nudity  of 
the  Greek  Slave.  Yet  this  indecency  goes  unrebuked  ! 

So  that  the  welcome  given  to  Editor  Moore  by  a pious, 
conservative  people  is  more  significant  than  all  the  speeches 
made  by  his  especial  friends.  It  was  a protest  against  that 
short-sighted  and  narrow-minded  bigotry  which  made  him  a 
victim;  against  that  hypocrisy  which  allows  the  brothel  and 
the  assignation  house  to  advertise  in  the  daily  papers  along- 
side the  abortionist  and  the  wealthy  voluptuary,  and  threat- 
ens with  fetters  and  a convict’s  garb  the  writer  who  was  bold 
enough  to  denounce  them.  It  was  a magnificent  and  spon- 
taneous demand  for  freethought,  and  free  expression  of  that 
thought. 

More  significance  than  the  surface  shows  appears  to  me 
in  this  remarkable  demonstration.  Nobody  “worked  up”  the 
popular  euthusia.sm.  A few  friends  hired  a bra.ss  baud  and  a 
half-dozen  carriages,  and  5,000  people  did  the  rest.  Believing 
as  I do  in  Almighty  God,  I can  but  see  that  the  arrest,  con- 
viction and  impri.sonmeut  of  Charlie  Moore — yes,  even  the 
contemptible  rancor  of  Prof.  Rucker — was  a wise  design  of 
Providence  for  working  out  great  and  good  results.  As  to 
Mr.  Moore  hini.self,  that  one  day  was  worth  living  all  his  life 
for,  and  the  only  dark  thread  in  its  warp  and  woof  was  that 
none  of  his  friends  could  with  uplifted  heart  thank  God  that 


feEHlND  ME  BAES;  314S8. 


285 


such  a day  dawned.  I listened  to  their  speeches  with  the 
shadow  of  that  sorrow  tipon  me. 
lyEXINGTON,  Ky. 


[From  the  Cincinnati  Enquirer.] 

THE  ENQUIRER  INTERVIEWS  MR.  MOORE. 


“I  would  not  take  $10,000  for  the  five  months  I have 
spent  in  the  penitentiaiy,”  was  the  extraordinary  statement 
made  by  Charles  C.  Moore,  editor  of  the  Blue  Grass  Blade, 
published  at  Eexington,  Ky.  Mr.  Moore  was  a Federal  pris- 
oner, sentenced  to  .serve  a term  of  two  years  for  improper  use 
of  the  United  States  mails,  the  same  consisting  in  circulating 
his  paper  by  this  means,  which  was  held  to  contain  mat- 
ter that  the  Government  should  not  be  utilized  in  its  dissemi- 
nation. He  was  pardoned,  and  on  account  of  good  behavior 
was  credited  with  a month’s  time,  reducing  his  imprisonment 
to  five  months. 

“My  paper  is  better  off  financially  to-day  than  it  ever 
was.  If  I had  been  confined  ten  years,  it  occurs  to  me  that 
it  would  have  had  the  largest  circulation  of  any  paper  in 
America.  Moreover,  I have  made  friends.  I have  more  than 
I ever  had.  The  journals  of  Kentucky  which  were  against 
me,  because  they  did  not  understand  me,  are  now  for  me. 
They  have  come  to  know  that  even  an  infidel  may  not  be  all 
bad.  I edited  two  papers  while  in  prison,  my  own  at  Eex- 
ington, and  the  other  the  official  publication  at  the  institution 
where  I was  a convict.  I have  been  well  employed  and  have 
profited  by  my  segregation  from  the  world.  I have  reflected 
and  am  stronger,  if  possible,  in  my  views,  than  before  my  trial 
and  conviction. 

“Even  the  Ohio  press  is  treating  me  with  more  tolerance. 
We  heathens  are  .softening  the  hearts  of  you  Chri.stians.,  and 
we  are  acquiring  traits  of  charity  and  liberality,  which  secure 
to  every  man  the  right  to  think  and  speak  for  him.self.’’ 

Mr.  Moore  left  for  his  home  near  Eexington  at  4 o’cldck 
yesterday  evening.  When  seen  at  the  Palace  Hotel  he  was 
surrounded  by  a group  of  fellow-believers,  who  hung  on 


2K6  BEHIND  THE  BARS;  3l498. 

every  word  he  uttered,  and  evinced  unbounded  love  and  con- 
fidence in  him. 

“When  I arrive  at  home  a great  concourse  of  people  will 
receive  and  greet  me,  and  a banquet  will  be  tendered  me  at 
the  Phcenix  Hotel.  An  address  of  welcome  will  be  delivered 
by  Mrs.  Josephine  K.  Henry,  the  most  talented  woman  I ever 
met.  She  was  a music  teacher  when  but  a girl,  and  one  of 
my  congregation  when  I preached.  She  was  converted  to 
our  faith.  Once  I advocated  her  as  a candidate  for  President. 
The  noblest  and  the  best  rulers  of  any  and  all  ages  were 
Queen  Elizabeth  and  Queen  Victoria.  We  will  be  better  off 
when  we  shall  install  the  ladj^  of  the  White  House  and 
the  President  of  the  Nation  at  the  same  time  in  one  and  the 
same  person. 

“As  to  my  plans  for  the  future,  they  are  all  mapped  out. 
I am  going  to  lecture  and  edit  my  paper,  too.  As  lecturer,  I 
shall  appear  in  my  prison  garb.  Ere  long  I am  coming  to 
Cincinnati,  and  .shall  be  heard  on  the  rostrum.’’ 

Mr.  Moore  holds  Warden  Coffin,  of  the  Ohio  Peniten- 
tiary, in  the  highe,st  regard.  “He  believes,’’  .said  the  infidel, 
“that  the  object  of  the  penal  institution  is  to  make  good  men 
of  bad  ones.  Eight  or  nine  out  of  every  ten  are  susceptible 
to  the  influence  of  reform.  Warden  Coffin  is  doing  a grand 
work  in  treating  convicts  as  human  beings  who  are  capable  of 
being  brought  to  a realization  of  their  errors,  and  endeavor 
to  get  away  from  the  wicked,  and  to  follow  along  the  path  of 
right.  Unfortunately,  .some  of  his  a.ssociates  proceed  on  the 
theory  once  a criminal  always  a criminal,  and  have  no  idea  of 
humanity  in  the  management  of  convicts.’’ 


[From  Die  Light  of  Truth.] 

A VICTIM  OF  A BAD  COMBINATION. 


Charles  C.  Moore,  the  freethought  pri.soner  and  publisher 
of  the  Blue  Grass  Blade,  whose  sentence  of  two  years  in  the 
Ohio  Penitentiary  was  commuted  by  the  President,  was  re- 
leased from  that  institution  last  Frida}",  and  proceeded  to  his 


28'7 


Behind  the  bars;  3i49r. 

tionie  near  Lexington,  Ky.  A large  company  of  his  friends 
in  this  city  met  him  on  his  release  and  bade  him  good-bye. 
An  ovation  was  extended  to  him  at  Cincinnati  and  Lexington. 

Moore  was  the  victim  of  a bad  combination,  viz.— Com- 
stockism  and  Kentucky  orthodoxy.  Few  survive  such  an 
ordeal  as  he  has  encountered,  and  had  it  not  been  for  the  hu- 
mane condition  of  society  in  the  big  prison  he  would  un- 
doubtedly have  perished.  From  this  vve  conclude  that  as  a 
place  of  residence  for  a freethinker  the  Ohio  Penitentiary  is 
to  be  preferred  to  the  State  of  Kentucky. 

When  Mr.  Moore  was  publishing  his  paper  in  Cincinnati, 
The  Light  of  Truth  Publishing  Company  did  his  printing  for 
a time,  and  we  came  to  know  the  fearle.ssness  of  the  man’s 
nature,  and,  while  admiring  it,  prophesied  that  the  Colonels, 
Majors  and  parsons  of  Kentucky  would  have  him  behind  the 
bars  again  if  he  ever  returned  there.  They  had  previouslj'^ 
imprisoned  him,  so  he  knew  their  peculiarities,  but  he  went 
back,  and  finally  an  accommodating  judge  sequestrated  him 
where  the  manly  oflfices  of  Warden  Coffin  could  lighten  his 
burdens.  The  logic  of  the  situation  is,  as  we  see  it,  that 
President  McKinley,  in  the  goodness  of  his  heart,  has  dealt 
out  a hardship  to  Mr.  Moore  in  expelling  him  from  the  peni- 
tentiary, because  he  has  gone  right  back  to  his  “Old  Ken- 
tucky Home,’’  where  the  Lord’s  own,  together  with  such  aid 
as  the  devil  can  render,  will  make  life  mi.serable  for  the  ven- 
erable humanitarian. 


COPY  OF  LETTER  SENT  TO  ATTORNEY-GENER.AL  GRIGGS. 

Yer.saii.les,  Ky.,  April  14,  ’99. 

U.  S.  Attorney-General  Griggs,  ’Washington,  D.  C. : 

Dear  Sir: — I -write  yon  tliis  letter  in  behalf  of  a U.  S.  prisoner, 
miller  sentence  of  two  years  at  the  Colnmbus,  Ohio,  penitentiary, 
charged  with  sending  objectionable  matter  through  tlie  II.  S.  mails. 

The  prisoner  in  question  is  Editor  Charles  C.  Moore,  of  Lexing- 
ton, Ky. 

I am  a Kentucky  woman,  wlio  has  made  a study  of  the  xirinciples 
of  government.  I am  loyal  to  true  American  principles,  and  have 
profound  respect  for  the  dignity  of  the  law  when  justly  adminis- 
tered. 


2HK 


BEHIND  DME  BAE8,  31498. 


Tlic  trial  and  conviction  of  Charles  C.  Moore  is  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  cases  in  American  jurisprudence,  and  in  view  of  the  evi- 
dence, the  motives  and  character  of  tlie  prisoner,  this  conviction 
strikes  a deadly  blow  at  free  press,  free  s])eech,  and  the  individual 
rights  of  American  citizens. 

Thousands  of  disinterested  persons  throughout  the  United  States 
recognize  the  fact  that  the  U.  S.  prisoner,  C.  C.  Aloore,  is  a mental  gi- 
ant, a humanitarian,  and,  above  all  things,  a moral  Titan,  whose  char- 
acter is  without  blemish,  whose  life  is  devoted  to  making  the  world 
nobler  and  better. 

Ills  crime  is  that  he  spoke  in  perfectly  chaste  language  on  a soci- 
ological ciuestion,  the  one  of  all  others  which  demands  the  investiga- 
tion and  best  efforts  of  all  thinkers  and  sociologists,  in  view  of  the 
fact  that  the  ignorance  upon  this  vital  cpiestion  has  filled  our  social 
system  with  misery  and  domestic  w'arfare,  and  is  peopling  the  world 
with  mental  dwarfs,  physical  wrecks,  and  moral  monstrosities. 

There  is  danger  indeed  to  the  stability  of  the  American  Govern- 
ment w'hen  an  American  citizen  can  be  branded  as  a convict  for  seek- 
ing to  elevate  our  social  status. 

If  we  could  add  to  the  President’s  Cabinet  a Secretary  of  Sociol- 
ogy, whose  duty  it  should  be  to  devise  ways  and  means  to  educate  the 
people  of  the  United  States  on  the  vital  question  of  Sociology,  thus 
elevating  the  morals  of  our  nation,  wdiich  w'ould  lead  to  higher  think- 
ing and  nobler  living,  our  Government  could  then,  indeed,  protect 
life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness  much  more  effectually  than 
by  sentencing  and  imprisoning  tlie  students  of  Sociology. 

In  the  name  of  liberty  and  justice  I plead  with  you  to  examine 
into  this  case,  and  I feel  assured  that  you  will  discover  that  this  man 
has  been  most  unjustly  dealt  with. 

Pleading  with  the  highest  judicial  power  in  our  land  for  a prac- 
tical application  of  American  principles,  I ask  that  you  recommend 
an  immediate  and  unconditional  release  for  the  United  States  pris- 
oner, Charles  C.  Aloore. 

Very  respectfully,  .losEimi.vi!  K.  Henky. 


WARDEN  COFFIN 


TEhTS  MY  WIFE  WHAT  HR  THINKS  OR  MR  AND  MY  IMPRIS- 
ONMENT. 


CORUMBUS,  O.,  June  26,  1899. 

Mrs.  Fucy  P.  Moore  : 

Madam— I am  in  receipt  of  your  kind  favor,  and  am 
pleased  to  hear  from  you  on  account  of  the  friendly  feeling 


289 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 

that  has  existed  between  your  husband  and  myself  since  he 
has  been  in  this  institution.  I also  thank  j'ou  for  the  kind 
manner  in  which  you  speak  of  me  on  account,  as  you  allege, 
of  the  generous  treatment  of  your  husband  since  he  has  been 
under  my  charge. 

Whatever  I have  done  for  him,  in  the  way  of  making  his 
imprisonment  as  pleasant  as  possible,  consistent  with  maintain- 
ing good  discipline,  has  been  for  the  reason  that  I recognized 
in  him  the  elements  of  a highly-cultured  gentleman,  worthj^ 
the  confidence  and  respect  of  all  good  citizens,  and  for  the 
further  reason  that  I did  not  consider  that  the  offense  of  which 
he  was  charged  was  one  that  demanded  harsh  and  severe  treat- 
ment, and  I think  that  the  Government  finally  came  to  the 
same  conclusion,  or  it  would  not  have  consented  to  commute 
and  reduce  his  sentence  from  two  years  to  six  months. 

A man  like  Mr.  Moore  fully  appreciates  any  kindness  that 
is  extended  to  him,  or  to  any  friend  of  his.  He  is  a big, 
noble-hearted  man,  with  nothing  but  kindness  in  his  heart  for 
the,  whole  human  family. 

I greatly  fear  that  I will  not  be  able  to  comply  with  your 
and  Mr.  Moore’s  wishes  by  going  home  with  him,  as  the  time 
he  leaves  will  find  me  very  much  engaged  in  matters  pertain- 
ing to  the  management  of  the  prison,  but  I promise  that  I will 
visit  your  part  of  Kentucky  this  .summer,  and  will  be  plea.sed 
to  call  and  see  you. 

The  ovation  that  Mr.  Moore’s  friends  will  extend  to  him 
on  his  arrival  at  home  will  be  a pleasant  greeting  to  him,  and 
one  that  I would  be  pleased  to  witness. 

He  understands  that  his  friends  desire  him  to  arrive  at 
home  on  the  8th  instead  of  the  yth  of  July,  and  he  will  com- 
ply with  these  wishes. 

With  my  best  wishes  for  j^our  future  happiness,  I am 
Re,spectfully  yours,  E.  G.  Coffin. 


BEHIND  tlTE  BAES  ; ni49S. 


list) 

■DKClvSION  OF  JUDGE  WATTvS  PARKER, 


IN  THK  CASK  OK  Till';  COMMONWKAI.TH  Ol''  KENTUCKY  VS. 
C.  C.  MOOKK,  CHARGED  WITH  BLASPHEMY. 


Commonwealth  ok  Kentucky, Plaintiff. 

vs. 

Charles  C.  Moore, Defendant. 


Indictment  No.  i. 

The  defendant,  C.  C.  Moore,  is  charged  with  having  com- 
mitted the  offense  of  blasphemy. 

It  is  alleged  in  the  indictment  that  the  defendant  intended 
to  treat  with  offensive  levity  and  ridicule  the  .scriptural  ac- 
count of  the  divine  conception  and  birth,  and,  to  bring  con- 
tempt upon  Almighty  God  and  his  divine  purpose  in  causing 
the  birth  of  Christ,  did  malicioirsly  and  bla.sphemou.sly  pub- 
lish in  a newspaper  known  as  the  Blue  Grass  Blade  the  fol- 
lowing words  : 

“When  I say  tliat  Jesus  Christ  was  a man  exactl}'  like  T am  mnl 
ha<l  a human  father  and  motlier  exactly  like  I had,  some  of  the  pious 
call  it  blasphemy.  When  they  say  that  Jesus  Christ  wms  born  as  the 
result  of  a sort  of  Breckinridge-Pollard  hyjihenation  between  God  and 
a Jew  woman,  I call  it  blasphemy  ; so  you  can  see  tliere  is  a stand-off.” 

It  is  further  charged  that  by  his  language  the  defendant 
meant  that  pious  and  religious  persons  stated  and  believed 
that  the  birth  of  Jesus  Christ  was  the  result  of  an  unholy  and 
illicit  connection  between  Almighty  God  and  Mary,  the  mother 
of  Christ. 

To  this  indictment  the  defendant  has  filed  a demurrer 
and  thereby  made  the  claim  that  no  offense  against  the  laws 
of  Kentucky  has  been  charged  against  him. 

This  demurrer  having  been  argued  witli  singular  earnest- 
ness and  ability  by  counsel  both  for  the  pro.secntiun  and  de- 
fense, and  the  question  presented  being  a new  one  in  the 
State,  the  Court  has  given  the  case  unusual  consideration. 
We  have  no  statute  again.st  bla.sphemy,  and  our  Court  of  Ap- 
peals, .so  far  as  we  know,  has  never  passed  upon  this,  or  any 
similar  c|ue,stion.  We  must,  therefore,  in  our  iuve.stigations 


BETTTND:TITE  P.ARS;  31498. 


291 


have  recourse  to  the  common  law  ami  to  the  judicial  decisions 
of  other  States  and  counties. 

Blackstone,  in  treating'  of  offenses  against  God  and  relig- 
ion, speaks  of  this  offense  as  bla.spheni}'  against  the  Almight}'^ 
by  denying  his  being  or  providence  or  by  contumelious  re- 
jiroaches  of  our  vSavior  Christ.  The  puni.shment,  he  says,  is 
by  fine  or  imprisonment  or  other  infamous  corporal  puni.sh- 
ment. The  ground  upon  'which  bla.sphemy  is  treated  as  an 
offense  is  that  “Chri.stianity  is  a part  of  the  law  of  England.” 
The  leading  case,  in  this  country,  in  which  the  crime  of  blas- 
phem}'  was  di.scussed  was  that  of  the  People  vs.  Ruggles,  de- 
cided by  the  Supreme  Court  of  New  York,  in  i8io,  Chief 
Ju.stice  Kent  delivering  the  opinion.  In  this  case  it  was  de- 
cided that  the  common  law  against  bla.sphemy  was  still  in 
force,  and  a judgment  to  pay  a fine  of  $500  and  be  imprisoned 
three  months  was  affirmed.  The  Court  in  this  opinioti,  cited 
with  approval  of  a number  of  English  ca.ses,  in  which  the 
right  to  punish  blasphemy  had  been  vigorously  upheld,  and 
quoted  the  words  of  Lord  Bacon,  ‘‘profane  scoffing  doth,  bv 
little  and  little,  deface  the  reverence  of  religion,”  and  “two 
principle  causes  I have  and  know  of  Atheism — curious  con- 
troversies and  profane  .scoffing.”  Whilst  this  opinion  did  not 
declare  that  Christianity  was  part  of  the  laws  of  the  State  of 
New  York,  but  expressly  disclaimed  that  there  was  an  estab- 
li.shed  religion  in  that  State,  yet  the  closeness  with  which  it 
adhered  to  the  definition  of  blasphemy  as  laid  down  by  Black- 
.stone,  and  the  great  reliance  placed  upon  the  English  decis- 
ions make  us  hesitate  to  walk  in  the  path  trod  by  Chief  Ju.s- 
tice Kent  him.self. 

For,  in  England  there  was  an  established  church.  The 
church  was  part  of  the  State.  Apostasy  and  heres3’  were  pun- 
ished— the  fir.st  commission  of  either  offense  disqualifjdng  the 
offender  for  holding  office  and  the  second  being  punished  b^' 
three  3’ear.s  imprisonment  without  bail.  Even  witchcraft  was 
claimed  b3'  Blackstone  to  be  an  offen.se  against  God  and  re- 
ligion, and  to  den3'  the  existence  of  such  a crime,  he  .said, 
was  ‘‘at  once  to  flatE^  contradict  the  revealed  word  of  God,” 
though  he  appeared  to  think  it  well  that  the  punishment  of 


292 


BEHIND  THE  BAES ; 31498. 


this  crime  had  fallen  into  disuse,  as  there  had  been  no  well 
authenticated  modern  instance  of  its  commission. 

In  this  country  where  the  divorce  between  the  church 
and  State  is  complete  and  final,  we  should  examine  with  care 
and  except  with  caution,  any  law  framed  and  intended  for  a 
country  where  church  and  State  are  one.  The  difficulties  in 
reconciling  religious  freedom  with  the  right  to  punish  for  an 
offense  against  any  given  religion  are  manifest. 

From  the  opinion  in  the  People  vs.  Ruggles  we  ma}^  de- 
duce as  conclusions  of  the  Court,  the  people  generally  in  this 
country  are  Christians;  that  Christianity  is  engrafted  upon 
the  morality  of  the  country;  that  all  religions  are  tolerated, 
but  that  this  toleration,  as  to  false  religions,  means  immunity 
from  test  oaths,  disabilities  and  the  burdens  of  church  es- 
tablishments; that  to  revile  the  Christian  religion  is  an  offense, 
but  that  to  revile  other  religions  is  not  an  offense  punishable 
by  law. 

In  the  Bill  of  Rights,  in  the  Kentuck5'  Constitution,  it  is 
declared  that  all  persons  have  “the  right  to  worship  Almighty 
God  according  to  the  dictates  of  their  conseiences’’ ; that  “no 
preference  shall  be  given  by  law  to  any  religious  sect,  .soci- 
ety or  denomination,  nor  to  any  particular  system  of  ecclesias- 
tical policy,’’  and  that  the  civil  rights,  privileges  or  capacities 
of  no  person  shall  be  taken  away,  or  in  any  way  diminished 
or  enlarged  on  account  of  his  belief  or  di.sbelief  of  any  relig- 
ious tenet,  dogma  or  teaching. 

It  is  difficult  to  conceive  how  language  could  be  made 
plainer.  If  the  framers  of  the  Con.stitution  intended  to  place 
all  religions  on  an  exact  ecpialit^^  before  the  law,  they  appear 
to  have  employed  language  well  calculated  to  express  their 
purpose.  They  recognized  the  fact  that  men  \\  ere  religious; 
that  they  had  different  religious  views,  and  some  had  no  relig- 
ious faith,  and  granting  the  fulle.st  religious  freedom,  they  de- 
clared that  the  rights  of  none  .should  l)e  “diminished  or  en- 
larged on  account  of  his  belief  or  di.sbelief  of  any  religious 
tenet,  dogma,  or  teaching.’’ 

Under  this  Con.stitution  no  form  of  religion  can  claim  to 
l)e  under  the  .special  guardian.ship  of  the  law.  The  common 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498, 


293 


law  of  England,  whence  our  law  of  blasphemy  is  derived,  did 
have  a certain  religion  under  its  guardianship,  and  this  relig- 
ion was  part  of  the  law.  The  greatest  concession  made  to  re- 
ligious liberty  was  the  right  of  learned  persons  to  decently  de- 
bate upon  controverted  points. 

The  essence  of  the  law  against  blasphemy  was  that  the 
offense,  like  apostasy  and  heres}^  was  against  religion,  and  it 
was  to  uphold  the  Established  Church,  and  not,  in  any  sense, 
to  maintain  good  order,  that  there  was  a law  against  blas- 
phemy. 

The  most  superficial  examination  of  the  chapter  in  Black- 
stone  treating  of  offenses  against  God  and  religion,  must  con- 
vince any  mind  that  the  sole  aim  and  object  of  these  laws  was 
to  pre.serve  the  Christian  faith,  as  it  was  then  understood  and 
accepted  by  the  Established  Church.  It  may  seem  to  us  that 
the  punishment  of  these  offenses  were  severe  in  the  time  of 
Blackstone,  but  they  had  been  greatly  mitigated,  as  the  stake 
and  fagot  had  been  of  far  too  frequent  use  in  propagating  what 
was  deemed  to  be  the  true  religion.  Even  Blackstone  com- 
plains that  the  definition  of  heres}^  had  been  too  uncertain, 
and  that  the  subject  had  been  liable  to  be  burnt  for  what  he 
had  not  understood  to  be  heresy,  until  it  was  decided  to  be  so 
by  the  ecclesiastical  judge  who  interpreted  the  canonical 
Scriptures.  To  deny  an}"  one  of  the  persons  of  the  Trinity, 
or  to  allege  that  there  were  more  gods  than  one,  was  a heresy, 
and  was  punished  in  the  same  manner  as  apostasy. 

Blasphemy  is  a crime  grown  from  the  same  parent  stem  as 
apostasy  and  heresy.  It  is  one  of  a class  of  offenses  a.ssigued 
for  the  same  general  purpo.se,  the  fostering  and  protecting  of  a 
religion  accepted  by  the  State  as  the  true  religion,  whose  pre- 
cepts and  tenets  it  was  thought  all  good  subjects  should  ob- 
serve. 

In  the  ca.se  of  laws  of  a country  enjoying  absolute  relig- 
ious freedom,  there  is  no  place  for  the  common  law  crime  of 
blasphemy.  Unsuited  to  the  .spirit  of  the  age,  its  enforcement 
would  be  in  contravention  of  the  Con.stitution  of  the  State, 
and  the  crime  must  be  considered  a stranger  to  the  laws  of 
Kentucky. 


294 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


Wherefore  it  is  adjudged  that  the  demurrer  be  arid  is 
hereby  sustained,  the  indictment  is  dismissed,  the  defendant’s 
bail  bond  is  quashed,  and  the  defendant  is  dismissed  hence 
without  day, 

[From  Freetliought  Magazine  (Cliicago),  of  Aj)ril,  1895. J 

CHARLES  C.  MOORE. 


Charles  C.  Moore,  whose  portrait  appears  as  the  frontis- 
piece of  this  number  of  this  magazine,  is  the  editor  and  pub- 
li.sher  of  the  Blue  Grass  Blade,  of  Lexington,  Ky. 

It  has  been  but  a short  time  since  we  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  Mr.  Moore  and  his  journal,  but  we  mu.st  confess  we 
have  become  much  interested  in  the  editor  and  the  paper.  We 
feel  confident  that  ever}'  intelligent  person  who  is  ac((uainted 
with  Mr.  Moore  and  the  Blade  will  agree  with  us  when  we  sa}^ 
that  we  are  sure  that  there  is  no  other  man  like  Charles  C. 
Moore  on  the  face  of  the  globe,  and  no  other  paper  that  is  any- 
thing like  the  Blue  Grass  Blade  published  in  the  English  lan- 
guage. As  for  ourselves,  we  can  best  expre.ss  our  opinion  of 
the  Blade  by  .saying  that  it  is  the  onh'  |>aper  that  we  have  on 
our  exchange  li.st  that  we  read  each  week  from  beginning  to 
end — every  article. 

As  before  stated,  not  having  known  Editor  Moore  but  a 
short  time,  we  are  not  prejiared  to  write  a sketch  of  his  life, 
but  that  well-known  and  distinguished  woman  of  the  vSouth, 
Mrs.  Jo.sephine  K.  Flenry,  of  \’'er.sailles,  K}’.,  has  furni.shcd 
us  with  the  following  sketch,  which  we  are  sure  will  much  in- 
terest any  reader  of  this  magazine  ; 


limTOR  FREETnouGiiT  Maciazin]',  ; — I hereby  gladl}' 
[)i'csent  to  your  intelligent  readers  the  following  In'ief  life- 
sketch  of  Charles  Chilton  Moore,  the  infidel  prohibition  editor 
of  the  Blue  Gra.ss  Blade  of  Lexington,  Ky. 

Civilization  is  calling  for  intellectual  liberty,  therefore,  as 
a Kentucky  woman,  I esteem  it  an  honor  and  a i)ri\'ilcge  to 
pa}'  a tribute  to  this  man,  who  is  one  of  the  grandest  chain- 


BEHIND  THE  BAES ; 3M98. 


295 


pious  of  intellectual  freedom,  justice  and  morality,  that  has 
arisen  in  the  American  republic. 

The  maternal  grandfather  of  Charles  C.  Moore  was  Bar- 
ton W.  Stone,  who  was  the  founder  of  the  “Christian,”  or 
Reform  church,  whose  initiative  work  was  carried  to  comple- 
tion b}"  Alexander  Campbell.  He  is  the  .son  of  Charles  Chil- 
ton Moore,  Sr. , and  Maryanne  Harrison  Stone,  natives  of  Vir- 
ginia. The  striking  individuality  and  stainless  lives  of  the 
grandparents  and  parents  of  Mr.  Moore  have,  under  the  laws 
of  heredity,  given  the  world  this  great  souled  man,  with  pur- 
ity in  his  heart  and  life,  and  truth  upon  his  lips.  Born  the 
child  of  fortune,  and  nurtured  in  the  lap  of  luxury,  with  all 
that  wealth  and  social  prestige  could  give  to  make  life  happy 
and  successful,  after  graduating  at  Bethany  College,  Va.,  he 
entered  the  ministr}"  of  the  Christian  church,  and  brought  the 
abilit}"  and  enthusiasm  that  have  characterized  his  entire  life 
into  his  work. 

He  began  preaching  just  before  the  civil  war,  and 
]3reached  almost  to  its  end.  Possessing  ample  means,  he  never 
accepted  a penny  for  his  ministerial  .services.  His  desire  to 
do  good  to  his  fellows  was  so  intense  that  he  abandoned  a 
prosperous  charge,  and  went  on  foot  through  the  mountain 
regions  of  Kentucky,  carrying,  as  he  then  thought,  the  true 
gospel  to  the  poor  and  ignorant,  and  while  ministering  to 
them  spiritually,  his  great  heart  went  out  to  them  in  their 
povert}’,  and  he  gave  liberally  of  his  abundance,  to  supply 
their  material  needs. 

The  subject  of  this  .sketch  being  a great  student,  and 
even  in  young  manhood,  a profound  thinker,  doubts  arose  in 
his  mind,  and  he  began  to  question  the  truth  and  Tfficacy 
of  doctrinal  religion,  and  the  authenticity  of  the  Bible.  In 
his  attempt  to  convert  to  the  Chri.stian  religion,  a very  .schol- 
arl}’  young  Confederate  .soldier — William  J.  Hatch — the  two 
young  men  agreed  to  stud}' both  sides  of  the  Christian  relig- 
ion, reading  and  arguing  assiduously  together  for  a number 
of  weeks.  The  remarkable  result  of  this  investigation  was 
that  the  j'oung  oldier  was  converted  to  the  Christian  re- 
ligion and  the  young  minister  renounced  Christianity,  and  be- 


296 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


came  an  infidel.  Once  convinced  of  the  error  of  dogma,  in 
agony  of  sonl  he  renounced  the  faith  of  his  ancestors,  and 
repudiating  the  idea  of  the  merciless,  blood-thirsty,  revenge- 
ful Jehovah  of  the  Bible  as  the  only  hope  of  humanity,  in 
its  hopelessness  and  ignorance,  he  counted  no  sacrifice  too 
great  to  try  and  lead  humanity  to  a grander  life  than  dogma- 
tism and  priestcraft  will  ever  allow  the  race  to  enjoy.  With 
stern  conviction  and  magnificent  courage,  he  turned  his  back 
upon  the  taper-lighted  altar  of  faith  and  walked  into  the  il- 
limitable realm  where  the  god  of  reason  reigns,  and  for  more 
than  a cpiarter  of  a cenutry  he  has  proven  himself  a moral 
and  intellectual  hero,  standing  in  solitary  grandeur  amid.st  the 
storms  of  obloquy,  ridicule,  calumny  and  ostracism,  undis- 
mayed by  church.  State  and  society,  as  they  pour  their  an- 
athemas upon  him,  impri.son  him,  threaten  his  life  and  rob 
him  of  the  fruit  of  his  honest  toil,  and  his  right  of  liberty  of 
conscience  guaranteed  to  every  citizen  of  the  American 
Republic. 

The  intensity  of  the  life  of  Charles  C.  Moore  cannot  be 
portrayed  by  language.  His  great  heart  so  overflows  with 
.S}uiqrathy  to  deluded  and  suffering  humanity,  that,  counting 
not  the  cost,  he  springs  with  the  spirit  of  the  Nazarene  car- 
penter to  the  defense  of  the  victims  of  tyranny  and  avarice 
which  surge  through  our  civilization,  making  a travesty  and 
caricature  of  dogmatic  religion,  and  a monstrous  deformity  of 
civil  and  .social  codes.  When  the  press,  pulpit  and  people  are 
silent  in  the  presence  of  public  and  private  wrongs,  he  comes 
alike  to  the  victims  of  poverty  and  strong  drink,  the  ill-paid 
slaves  of  avarice,  abused  and  neglected  motherhood,  the  fallen 
women,  the  wronged  Negro,  calling  on  bishop,  priest  and 
deacon,  judge  and  jurist,  to  prove  the  wisdom  of  retaining 
religious  and  civil  codes  that  fill  the  world  with  moral  mon- 
stro.sities,  mental  dwarfs  and  .spiritual  paralytics. 

It  is  absolutely  true  that  the  infidel  Charles  C.  Moore  is  a 
“man  in  whom  there  is  no  guile.’’  His  paper,  the  Blue  Grass 
Blade,  is  the  mo.st  unique  sheet  that  ever  came  from  a print- 
ing press,  and  he  richly  deserves  the  ro3ml  title  of  the  phe- 
nomenal truth  teller.  All  questions  bearing  upon  the  moral 


BEHIND  THE  BARS ; 31498. 


297 


Uplift  of  the  race  are  freely  discussed,  and  his  trenchant  pen 
sways  from  the  height  of  an  Emerson  or  Ingersoll,  and  the 
pathos  and  polish  of  a Washington  Irving,  to  the  keenest  wit, 
satire  and  sarcasm  of  the  masters  of  those  arts.  He  writes 
from  twelve  to  sixteen  columns  a week,  the  entire  paper,  save 
correspondence  and  advertisements,  and  many  of  his  articles 
on  vexed  problems  that  are  now  up  for  solution,  which  he 
dashes  off  while  the  typos  wait,  are  worthy  of  a place  in  our 
best  magazines. 

The  Blue  Grass  Blade  is  read  in  Europe,  India,  and  in 
the  iles  of  the  sea,  and  in  every  State  of  the  Union,  and  as 
an  evidence  that  this  unique  editor  who  ably  advocates  in- 
fidelit}",  prohibition  and  woman  suffrage,  has  something  to 
say,  when  the  weekly  issue  arrives  at  the  many  homes  it  en- 
ters, every  member  of  the  household  desires  it  first.  The 
Liberals  read  it  aloud  to  their  friends,  and  the  illiberals  bor- 
row it  and  read  it  on  the  sly  and  get  some  new  ideas. 

This  eccentric  editor  is  generally  censured  for  his  per- 
sonal journalism,  for  laying  bare  the  sins  that  curse  society, 
but  the  truth  is  that  the  man  in  “whom  there  is  no  guile’’ 
rebels  .so  against  the  shams  and  tyranny  of  the  church.  State 
and  society  that  his  soul  chaffs  and  his  heart  bleeds  over 
wrongs  and  sufferings  that  might,  under  a regime  of  reason, 
common  sense  and  common  humanity,  be  averted,  and  he, 
therefore,  .speaks  without  fear,  becau.se  he  must,  but  is  ever 
ready  to  right  any  wrong  and  openly  acknowledge  his  fault. 

Charles  C.  Moore  is  the  author  of  a book  entitled  “The 
Rational  View,’’  which  is  a modern  rationalistic  view  of  the- 
ology. Being  a learned  theologian  and  Bible  student,  and 
having  taken  a calm  survey  of  orthodoxy,  heterodoxy  and 
rank  infidelity,  the  author  of  “The  Rational  View’’  u.ses 
most  forcible  reasoning  for  the  conclusions  he  reaches.  Mr. 
Moore  said  in  a recent  issue  of  the  Blue  Grass  Blade: 

“If  the  Bible  were  universally  known  to  be  true,  it  is 
doubtful  if  a system  of  rewards  and  punishments  that  are 
only  to  be  realized  after  death,  could  influence  any  man  to  do 
good.  But  when  any  man  who  has  any  capacity  to  think  at 
at  all,  realizes  that  he  can  have  no  substantial  and  sound  rea- 


29S 


BEHIND  THE  BARS  ; 31498. 


suii.s  for  believing  the  Bible  is  true,  though  }'ou  may  intimi- 
date him  so  that  he  will  not  say  what  he  really  believes,  the 
alleged  system  of  rewards  and  punishment  after  death  will 
not  influence  his  conduct.  Orthodox  preaching  and  churches 
do  no  good.  They  never  make  men  any  better.  Nobody 
ever  saw  a man  made  any  better  by  becoming  a churchman. 
There  are  good  men  in  the  churches,  but  their  belief  did  not 
make  them  so.  ’ ’ 

Having  reached  the  age  of  57  without  a blemish  on  his 
life,  which  has  been  read  of  all  men  in  domestic,  social  and 
civil  relations,  Editor  Moore  is  constantly  pleading  for  some 
learned  ecclesiastic  to  meet  him  in  oral  or  written  debate  on 
the  authenticity  of  the  Bible  and  the  value  of  dogmatic 
Christianit}’;  in  other  words,  a fair  contest  between  Orthodoxy 
and  Rationalism,  delineating  the  uses  and  abu.ses,  .success  or 
failure  of  Bible  Christianity.  So  far  the  clergy  have  barri- 
caded themselves  behind  the  reeling  towers  of  faith,  .saying 
in  undertones,  that  infidels,  guided  by  reason,  are  unworthy 
to  meet  eccle.sia.stical  giants  who  walk  by  faith  alone,  but 
who.se  lives  are  pften  misfits  that  would  not  .show  up  well 
under  the  .searchlight  of  reason,  forgetting  that  what  civil 
and  religious  liberty  we  enjo}^  to-day  has  been  won  for  us, 
and  every  round  in  the  ladder  of  human  progress  has  been 
placed  there  by  the  misunder.stood  and  persecuted  infidel. 

Mr.  Moore  has  a book  ready  for  the  ^Dress,  entitled  “Be- 
liind  the  Bars,”  written  while  in  jail  b}'  the  .so-called  Chris- 
tians, who  arrested,  tried  and  impri.soned  him  in  the  jail  at 
Paris,  Kentucky,  for  telling  the  truth  in  regard  to  that  uncer- 
tain (juantity  that  often  ma.squerades  as  religion  in  the  cloak 
of  Christianity. 

A few  months  ago  Charles  C.  Moore  was  indicted  by  the 
grand  jury  of  Eexington,  Kentuck}',  and  impri.soned  in  the 
jail  of  tliat  city  at  the  instigation  of  a mini.ster  of  the  go.spel, 
on  the  cliarge  of  blaspheni}',  becau.se  he  .said,  in  tlie  Blade, 
that  ‘‘Jesus  was  not  God,  but  a man  who  had  a human  father 
and  mother.” 

llis  arrest  attracted  wide  attention,  and  when  the  ca.se 
came  to  trial.  Judge  J.  Watts  Parker,  who  was  on  tlie  bench, 


EElilND  THE  BAllS;  314!)8. 


299 


proved  himself  a, correct  interpreter  of  American  principles 
and  an  able  jurist,  by  deciding  that  there  can  be  no  such  crime 
as  blasphemy  in  Kentucky,  as  the  new  Constitution  guaran- 
tees to  all  persons,  liberty  of  conscience. 

The  prosecutors  of  Mr.  Moore  carried  his  case  to  the  Su- 
preme Court  of  Kentucky,  where  it  is  now  pending.  Thus, 
through  the  fire  of  persecution,  is  the  Infidel,  Charles  C. 
Moore,  making  religious  intolerance  quail  before  the  magnifi- 
cent heritage  of  freedom  of  conscience,  guaranteed  to  all  in 
this  government.  When  the  world  is  ready  to  hear  the  truth, 
persecution  will  find  a resurrectiouless  grave,  but  that  time  is 
not  5^et. 

The  man  or  woman  who  dares  to  think  or  reason,  and  re- 
fuses to  conform  to  superstitions  and  cruelties  that,  after  nine- 
teen hundred  years,  find  the  world  in  sin  and  sorrow,  suffer- 
ing and  subjection  to  t}Tanuical  man-made  creeds  and  codes, 
must  have  the  .spleudid  courage  manifested  by  this  man  to 
stand  undismayed  against  the  tides  of  oppo.sition  that  flow 
from  the  .springs  of  ignorance  and  intolerance. 

The  South  has  ahva3’s  been  the  stronghold  of  comserva- 
tisin,  and  even,  to-da>-,  it  is  comsidered  almo.st  a crime  to  have 
a new  idea.  But  times  are  changed,  and  evolution  is  doing  its 
perfect  work,  even  here  in  the  South  ; and  when  the  names  of 
statesmen  and  heroes  who  purchased  fame  bj"  fitting  their 
ideas  to  public  .sentiment,  or  taking  the  lives  of  their  fellows 
on  the  field  of  battle,  will  have  passed  into  oblivion,  the 
names  of  the  intellectual  liberators  of  the  race,  of  which 
Charles  C.  Moore  is  one,  will  go  ringing  down  the  corridors  of 
time,  laden  with  the  gratitude  of  all  lovers  of  libert}’  and  just- 
ice. 

“Fur  wliili'  llic  Jialihitf,  with  their  tliuinb-worn  creeds, 

'I'iieir  kind  professions  and  llieir  lillle  deeds, 
iUingle  in  .sellisli  strife,  lo  ! freedom  weeps  : 
t\'rong  rules  the  land,  and  waiting  justice  .slei’ps.” 

Tlte  subject  of  this  .sketch  lives  at  his  old  ancestral  home, 
on  a Iteautiful  farm,  near  kexington,  Kentucky.  His  devoted 
wife,  who  was  Miss  Lucy  George  Peak,  of  Scott  county,  Ken- 
tucky, has  sustained  him  with  her  love  and  coiursel  through 


300 


BEHIND  THE  BARS,  31498. 


the  tempests  that,  for  twenty-eight  years,  have  raged  around 
their  path,  and  at  times  her  life  has  been  a long-drawn  agony, 
becau.se  of  the  persecutions  to  which  Mr.  Moore  has  been  sub- 
jected. Three  .sous  and  a daughter  arise  and  call  them  blessed, 
and  delight  the  hearts  of  their  parents  by  possessing,  to  a re- 
markable degree,  the  virtues  of  truth,  kindness  and  integrity 
of  life. 

If  Christians  who  per.secute  the  Infidel  for  non-belief  in 
creeds  that  breed  dissention  and  hatred,  would  take  his  life  as 
a model,  then  there  would  be  no  need  of  religious  revivals, 
no  sin-laden  soul  at  the  mourner’s  bench,  no  drunkards  to 
curse  society,  no  moral  lepers  at  the  matrimonial  altar,  no 
pri,soners  at  the  bar,  no  need  of  priests  to  groom  poor  cower- 
ing humanity  for  heaven;  for  all  would  be  busy  being  happy 
and  making  others  so  by  rendering  justice  and  humanity  to 
fellow-creatures  on  the  shores  of  time,  serene  in  the  convic- 
tion that  eternity  will  take  care  of  itself.  The  all  hopeful 
word  of  the  Bible  Christianity  to-day  is  “revision.”  Is  it 
not  an  infidel  trend  to  revi.se  the  infallible  word  of  God  as 
men  grow  wLser?  The  .strictly  orthodox  to-day  would  have 
been  rank  infidels  a decade  ago.  The  harshly  grating  word 
“damned”  in  Mark’s  go.spel  has  been  revi.sed  to  read  “con- 
demned;” the  place  where  the  worm  dieth  not  is  in  the  Ge- 
henna Valley,  or  Hinnom,  and  the  “Prince  of  Darkness”  is 
now  minimized  to  Diabolus,  which  rendition  is  equally  as  in- 
structive, but  a little  more  comforting. 

The  thinkers  of  the  world  have  been  the  revisionists,  and 
they  have  brought  us  all  the  light  we  have;  but  how  they 
have  been  made  to  .suffer  ! The  Kentucky  infidel,  Charles  C. 
Moore,  has  had  his  share  of  persecution,  but  he  has  started 
rills  of  thought  that  are  now  rising  into  streams. 

“Tliis  man  with  moral  zeal  is  burning. 

For  right  some  word  to  speak,  some  blow  to  strike. 

And  witli  the  plow'  of  reason  he  is  turning 
The  stubborn  glebe  of  church  and  State  alike.” 

Josephine  K.  Henry. 


March  15,  1S95. 


BEHIND  THE  BARS;  31498. 


301 


Charles  C.  Moore,  as  is  well  known,  is  the  publisher  and 
editor  of  the  Blue  Grass  Blade,  of  Bexingtou,  Ky.  The  por- 
trait of  Mr.  Moore  appears  as  the  frontispiece  of  this  number 
of  this  magazine — also  in  this  number  is  a life-sketch  of  the 
eccentric  editor,  by  Mrs.  Jo.sephine  K.  Henry,  of  Versailles, 
Ky. , one  of  the  ablest  and  most  distingui.shed  women  of  the 
South.  A correspondent  of  the  Chicago  Times,  in  describing 
the  leading  women  who  attended  the  late  Suffrage  Convention, 
at  Atlanta,  Georgia,  says  of  Mrs.  Henry: 

“Mrs.  Jo.sephine  K.  Henry  of  Versailles,  Ky.,  po,ssibly 
.stands  at  the  head  of  this  trio  of  women  orators,  by  virtue  of 
her  remarkable  eloquence,  her  personal  magnetism,  and  the 
power  she  has  of  swaying  and  electrifiing  her  audiences. 

Of  slender,  almost  frail  physique,  Mrs.  Henry’s  person- 
nel does  not  impre.ss  a stranger  with  the  full  idea  of  her 
abilities.  But  the  moment  she  arises  to  speak  on  the  stage 
and  the  tones  of  her  magnetic  vibrant  voice  are  heard,  the 
audience  falls  under  her  spell,  and  as  she  proceeds  in  her  ad- 
dress they  are  invariably  carried  along  with  her.  She  has 
been  called  the  “Woman  Henry  Clay  of  Kentucky,”  and 
those  who  have  heard  her  will  not  dispute  her  title.  In  pri- 
vate life  .Mrs.  Henry  is  a devoted  wife  and  mother,  and  is 
simply  adored  by  her  family  and  hundreds  of  admirers.” — 
(Freethought  Magazine.) 


HANDCUFFS— “GOOD-BYE.” 


When  we  came  to  print  the  very  last  pages  of  this  book, 
January  i8,  E.  M.  300,  (A.  D.  1900,)  my  printers  .said  that 
in  the  mechanical  get-up  of  the  book  two  or  three  more  pages 
were  desirable,  and  asked  me  to  furnish  copy  for  them  and  I 
write  the  following.  The  words  for  which  I was  fined  and 
put  in  jail  in  Paris,  Ky.,  by  the  “Christian”  church  were  as 
follows: 

“If  I liaci  a contract  to  bore  for  hell-fire,  I would  pick  the  place 
where  the  earth’s  crust  is  thinnest,  and  rig  my  derrick  right  in  front 
of  that  Christian  church  in  Paris.” 

A saloon  keeper  sent  me  word  that  he  would  build  a sa-  ■ 


r.FJTTND  THE  BAE8;  B149K, 


BO'J 

loon  to  l)e  called  “The  Derrick,’’  right  in  front  of  that  chnrch  i 

and  that  I might  drink  there  free,  the  balance  of  1113-’  life.  -3 

The  word.s  for  which  I was  pnt  in  the  penitentiary’,  I 1 

have  never  seen  in  the  paper  from  the  time  I wrote  them,  over  'f! 
two  3'ears  ago,  to  this  date.  The  paper  was  taken  from  my  ! 

file  and  I have  none.  I had  a cojw  of  that  paper  in  mv  hand  ' 

at  my  trial  (?)  and  expected  to  read  it,  for  the  first  time  after 
I wrote  it,  to  the  Court  and  juryy  but  in  what  was  practically 
only'  fifteen  minutes  that  was  allowed  me  to  defend  my.self,  I 
never  got  an  opportunity'  to  see  it,  and  about  the  time  I ex- 
pected to  read  it,  I had  the  handcuffs  on  and  was  on  my  way 
to  the  penitentiary. 

Ju.st  as  I am  writing  the  clo.sing  pages,  I get  a letter 
which  I print  to  .show  the  esteem  in  which  I was  held  by  my 
fellow-prisoners: 

PRNITKNa'IAUV,  C0U’!\rBU,s,  OlIIO, 

January  14,  1900. 

Mr.  C.  C.  Moork,  Lexington,  Ky. 

Dear  Sir: — I hope  you  will  pardon  me  for  this  liberty  I 
take  in  addressing  you,  as  we  never  had  airy  acquaintance 
with  each  other,  yet  I saw  y'ou  nearly’  every  day  while  y'ou 
were  in  prison,  and  got  very  well  acquainted  with  y'ou  through 
others.  ' . ’ 

As  all  the  boys  .speak  only'  in  the  highest  terms  of  you — 
at  least  tho.se  that  were  acquainted  with  y'ou — I have  heard, 
through  .some  of  them,  that  the  editor  of  the  “News’’  had 
refused  to  send  you  a paper,  aud  as  I am  an  assistant  at  the 
Po.stoffice  Department,  I took  it  on  my'.self  to  send  you  one, 
as  I think  you  are  entitled  to  one  for  what  you  did  for  it 
while  you  were  here. 

Perhaps  Walker  does  not  think  so,  but  I do,  and  I will 
continue  to  send  you  one  every  week,  as  long  as  I am  in  a 
position  where  I can.  j 

Remember,  Mr.  Moore,  that  y’ou  ha\-e  a world  of  friends  '] 

in  this  place — men  whom  you  never  met.  1 

Now,  Mr.  Moore,  I will  not  take  up  any  more  of  your  _ j 
yalualile  time  with  mv  letter,  bht  hope  vou  will  appreciate  3 

j 

j 


BETTIND  THE  BAER;  HI 498. 


tlii.s  favor,  which,  though  it  is  not  imiclr,  3’ou  may  rest  as- 
.sured  is  from  the  heart. 

Hoping  to  hear  from  you  whenever  it  is  convenient  I re- 
main Yours  truly,.  W.  F.  Raidler, 

2Si6r,  O.  P. 


“You  shackle  American  libert}’,  not  me.’’ 

“Under  the  circumstances  I am  proiid  to  be  a convict’s 
wife,’’ 

I bid  yon  an  affectionate  “Good-bj'e,’’  and  this  brings 
irs  to  ■ 


THE  END, 


•r 


I 


I ■ 

S' 


